


The Prodigal (or, A Planet Called Petunia)

by SupposedToBeWriting



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, First Meetings, First Time, Investigations, Loosely Based Off TOS, M/M, Optimism about People And the Future, POV Multiple, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Slow Burn, That's what Star Trek is ALLLLLL about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-05-31 06:42:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 71,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19420567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupposedToBeWriting/pseuds/SupposedToBeWriting
Summary: One was discharged from Starfleet for a murder he didn't commit. The other watched his ship go down in flames. They both assume that the ride of their lives is over. After a turbulent meeting in front of a bar in San Francisco, Jim and Spock work together in pursuit of recovery, love, justice, and the values of Starfleet.





	1. A Raging Dumpster Fire

“At what point do we start admitting we have a problem, Jim?”

Bones’ disapproving voice oozed languidly into his ear canal, although Jim couldn’t quite convince his brain to process it, not with the pain drumming against the inside of his skull. _This is bullshit._

The excessive white lights of the Academy medical clinic caused 95% of the pounding. His eyes squeezed shut in defense, hands balling against the scratchy blanket of the biobed. What time was it, even? There were none of the familiar noises of the clinic, no screech of a needy communicator or hum of a levitating gurney. _Oh, shit, I’m not even a doctor, and I know what the clinic sounds like. Is that a bad sign?_ Was it even Bones’ shift, or did Bones come in during his off-hours?

Jesus, if it was the latter, he didn’t deserve this guy as his best friend.

“And yeah, I’m using the royal ‘we’ here,” the man of the hour elaborated in his Southern drawl as Jim felt the clip get removed from his finger. Heart rate, maybe? “I want to make sure you aren’t lumping me in with your fucking garbage fire of a life.”

“Shuddup,” Jim grumbled. _Loud voices bad. Mean man talk too much. Hurt Jim head. No._ He cracked his eyes open to stare at the opposite wall, trying to will himself into focus. In doing so, was surprised at how his face felt … stiff. Rough. He prodded around his perpetual five o’clock shadow and grunted in pain. That did not feel like his face. Why did that not feel like his face? He gave a plaintive look to Bones, who just snorted at him.

“Hang on, princess, let me help you out.” Bones tapped on his PADD, the surface quickly becoming clear and reflective, like a mirror. He passed it over into Jim’s outstretched hands, who turned it around to face him.

Bruises lined the entire right side of his face. One eye was swollen – huh, that was why things looked like that – and there was a cut on his cheekbone in the shape of a ragged ‘Z’. “Who’s that handsome son of a bitch?” He joked, glancing up at Bones. Bones was unimpressed.

In response, Bones injected him with a hypospray. Jim yelped.

“Now that you’re awake, I can give you something to speed up your blood vessel regen. Do you remember anything about last night?”

Jim thought, hard. He’d been at a bar. Drinking steadily, chatting up a cute Andorian with just _gorgeous_ eyes, and then …

Oh yeah. He’d seen the TV, seen the special titled ‘George Kirk’s Fallen Son’ that’d had put a photo of his dad and a photo of himself during his court martial side-by-side, and _then_ things started to get a little … fuzzy. Jim pulled a dumbfounded face and looked up to Bones.

“Give me a hint?”

Bones gave a disgusted grunt. Jim realized that the last time he’d drank with Bones, Bones had dragged him off before he got himself into trouble. That had been _weeks_ ago. He was alone last night. So how … ?

“Wait, were you even there?”

“ _No,_ Jim, I was not. I was with my _wife_ and _daughter_ when I get a call from the bartender that you picked a fight with some Tellarite.” There was another hypospray – but Jim didn’t fuss at much at that one, because his face went slack and soft. That was _nice_. “Which, if you’re keeping track, means that the bartender knew you by name and knew to call _me_ to pick your ass up. Which _means -_ ”

“You’ve got one of those faces people always remember, Bones.”

“This isn’t the first time they’ve called me.”

“I think it’s the first time this month.”

“ _Jim.”_ There was something serious and sad in Bones’ voice, and Jim hated when he broke out into his solemn voice, like he was his fucking dad. That was his cue to leave. Throwing his legs off the side of the bed, Jim stood and patted himself down. Apartment keys, still, and his wallet. Doing good. Cruising. “Don’t ignore me, it’s getting to be– “

“Thanks for the patch-up work.” Throwing his coat on, Jim waved a few fingers at Bones in farewell and started to walk. Walking was easier than expected; he only stumbled a little as he staggered out the door. He was only vaguely aware of Bones standing in the doorway, arms crossed. 

As he walked through the darkened hallways of the Academy clinic, his own footsteps echoing back to him, Jim had to admit that _maybe_ his life was going in a bad direction. It felt pretty shitty, actually, even if he felt worse for Bones than he did for himself. Bones didn’t deserve this. Hell, he didn’t have to _do_ this.

His friendship with Bones was relatively new, but they’d gotten along almost immediately. It almost reminded him of the first time he met Finney, how soon they just connected. Bones had made it clear up front that he didn’t give a shit about any scandal, was good for a drink (well, _had been)_ , and was generally an all-around good guy. They didn’t talk much about the court martial (read: at all). He patched Jim up consistently, without too much complaint, and Jim owed him a lot, just for that. For his friendship … god, he couldn’t ever repay Bones for that.

It helped that Jim looked after Jo every now and then. Jim liked the kid. She had pizazz.

Part of him wondered if Bones was going to cut off contact someday because of Jim’s most recent drinking-related troubles. It seemed weird that Bones took issue with the drinking more than the murder charge. Bones already refused to drink with him, after Jim woke up one too many times on Bones’ couch. He was worried about him, Jim was sure, but Bones’ caring nature also happened to be Bones’ worst personality trait.

Jim didn’t want anyone to give a single shit about him. It was cleaner that way. After all, how much time on this Earth did he _really_ have left?

“You gonna _walk_ back to your apartment, asshole, or – “

Bones had caught up with him, lightly jogging, as Jim walked through the front doors of the Academy. It was there that Jim realized it was barely sunrise. They really had called Bones in the middle of the night. “Remind me to buy you a drink, later,” Jim chirped at him, ignoring his question, “Did you unlock the clinic for me?”

“Bar was closer to the clinic than a hospital, and you just needed a place to sleep it off.”

“Tell me about it. Except, now I need a place to sleep the clinic off. I need a pick-me-up.” Jim rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “You free tonight?”

“For what, exactly?”

“Was thinking about trying that new watering hole down by – “

“A bar? Are you seriously asking me?”

Jim gave him a grin, hitting him on the shoulder. “I’m just on your ass, Bones.” He hadn’t been. Guess he’d go there alone tonight, anyway. “I do owe you a drink, though. Maybe later.”

In the end, and despite Bones’ badgering that he give the bar a break for the night, Jim decided to take the rail home with Bones. Walking alone didn’t give him too many concerns, but Bones seemed intent on sticking at his side and it wasn’t _quite_ sunrise.

They boarded the rail. At this hour, they were the only two people on the train. The noise and light was enough to send Jim into sulky silence, staring across the seats blearily. Pretty sure there was a hypospray for hangovers. Bones just didn’t want to give it to him. Dick.

As the rail sped through the city, Jim got a fast-forwarded view of San Francisco. His city. He’d basically been king in the Academy, and he’d never felt more at home anywhere else. Coming back for shore leave had been like homecoming, even if he was always antsy to throw himself back into the black. Now, Jim felt nothing at the sight of his old city. She’d turned her back on him, like everyone else had. Well. Everyone except for Bones, and he didn’t even know the whole story.

In uneasy silence, they waited until they were near Jim’s place before stepping off and making the rest of the way to Jim’s apartment. Bones was brooding up an awful rant behind him, Jim knew, and he hoped that he could get through the rest of the day without another McCoy lecture. Jim fumbled with the keys, stepping inside, when he realized that Bones was still standing right behind him.

“You don’t have to follow me all the way into my apartment. Doesn’t that break some rule on patient-doctor boundaries?”

“Yeah, probably,” his friend mumbled, distracted. “Just been thinking about how to say this.” Bones had a ‘ _I don’t want to be doing this either’_ tone in his voice that set Jim on edge.

“Aw, c’mon, Bones, don’t,” Jim whined at him. It was easy to walk away from Bones, harder to shut the door in his face. Jim felt trapped.

Hand on his door, Jim was so close to being free. To not have to hear Bones’ disappointed dad voice for at least a few more hours, where he could crawl into his dark, isolated bedroom and just … sleep and forget what he’d heard in the bar last night.

The court martial had done wonders for his social life, really. Sometimes people recognized him in bars. Sometimes that drew ladies in, seeing what a bad boy cold-blooded murderer looked like. Most times, it just made people whisper about him from across the room.

_I heard it was his best friend._

_I heard he did it for a promotion._

_I heard he had a psychotic break._

That was probably best. What was Jim gonna say? Telling people the truth, _that I know what I did and I didn’t fuck up and I didn’t deserve to be discharged,_ didn’t do shit during the trial and wouldn’t do shit over drinks. There was _proof_ against him. _Video evidence._

Bones had never asked. Jim sometimes wondered what he thought about it, whether he thought Jim had a secret dark side, but hey, he wasn’t gonna risk it. And it didn’t matter, anyway. Jim hadn’t brought up the hearing up sober since … well, since it happened. 

“You’re a smart kid.”

“You’re not ancient, grandpa.”

“No, look – _you are._ And it’s getting to the point where you’re throwing all that down the shitter, ‘cause you know you’re not gonna last long like this. And you’re doing all this, for what, exactly? You feel sorry for yourself?”

That was enough. Guilt and goodwill only went so far, but now Bones was pissing him off.

Jim slammed the door in his friend’s face, leaving Bones alone on the doorstep.

Rain had started to fall in San Francisco. Jim heard it pattering against his windows, the sound magnified and pounding against his head. Inside, he surveyed his living room. Messy and undecorated. A place to sleep, not a home. And right now, that was all that Jim needed. Maybe this feeling, a yawning emptiness that emptied his brain and broke his spirit, would get bored and leave after a nap. He staggered half-heartedly toward his bathroom for a shower. 

On the barely-touched welcome mat, Bones looked down at his feet and muttered, “Fuck, Jim.”


	2. The Kindly Samaritan

The only sounds in the Starfleet Academy Basics of Astronautic Engineering classroom were the occasional shuffle of papers or the screech of a desk being pushed back. Even the birds outside fell silent, as if sensing the stress of the sleep-deprived cadets within. Occasionally, there was an insistent, worried tapping against a PADD as students frantically finished their starship diagrams. People knew well enough not to talk out of turn in this class, lest they receive a calm, steady, terrifying look from the Academy’s most intimidating instructor: Commander Spock.

One by one, they filed up so that he could review their first drafts. They plodded up the classroom aisles in a line.

“If you continue with that endeavor, the ship will explode in any nebula with a high concentration of phosphorous. That blocks off 2/3 of the Alpha Sector and morale will likely suffer among the crew, as their ship assignment also functions as an improvised explosive device.’

The cadet scowled at Spock’s critique of his plans, crossing it out furiously on the PADD as he walked away. Spock blinked languidly behind him, before ushering the next nervous student forward. The line stretched well to the back of the classroom, although some students opted instead to sneak out beneath Spock’s notice.

Or seemingly beneath Spock’s notice. He made a mental note of the missing students.

Spock was aware that this was an unusual career path for a Vulcan. Talents once intended for the Vulcan Science Academy were typically used to build starships, plan strategical deliberations during wartime, strategize and manipulate and extrapolate. And here he was, telling Cadet Monroe that his plan to include a ‘dessert freezer’ in the mess was a frivolous idea when replicators were abundantly available.

Spock did not take an issue with teaching as a whole. Teaching was highly regarded on Vulcan. It was considered a noble endeavor, even, because there was little use in knowledge if it died with the owner. Yet, Spock had never thought of himself as spectacularly suited for the discipline, especially among primarily human students.

He could do it. He did not _enjoy_ it, but he would never let his decisions be swayed by concepts like ‘enjoyment’.

He was also tasked with designing the test simulator modules, which always drew some attention and notoriety come testing day. _And_ shipboard computers. And starship engines, when called to do so. And there was usually some call for his xenobotany expertise. He’d published a mycology paper last year.

Once upon a time, before his universe had shrank to San Francisco, Spock had been on a starship. He had been spectacularly suited there. It had been a long while, months, since he’d last been on board. His proficiency requirements had expired long ago.

He told himself it _also_ suited him perfectly well, being grounded. He was fulfilling his responsibilities on Earth by teaching the next generation of Starfleet cadets. That was needed, in Starfleet. The stars were a chaotic, emotional place that held nothing for a Vulcan, no matter if they seemed to call to him whenever he walked underneath the starry night sky.

 _No._ Poetic. Ridiculous. That was the human side of him, which had grown more apparent since the starship incident. Spock shut his eyes for a second, trying to focus his thoughts. It had been a long day. Grading assignments was always arduous. 

“What do you think of _my_ ship, Commander Spock?”

At the voice, Spock looked up at a grinning Admiral Pike who was, evidently, brandishing a napkin with a hastily-scribbled starship at him. His former captain on the _USS Theseus._ Spock nonetheless patiently took the paper and examined it. The entire class watched with baited nervousness. Commander Spock did not famously react well to _jokes._

“Is the mustard stain a part of the intended design?”

Pike barked out a laugh, and the nervous cadets behind him let out a few relieved titters. He clapped a hand down on the desk, sending a _thud!_ through the classroom, and gestured to the door. “Can we have a quick word, Spock?”

Spock did not flinch at the loud sound, even if his legs tensed underneath his desk at that. _Explosion. There was an explosion. They were already gone._ Pike was not a quiet person. Had never been. “Certainly.” He rose from his chair. “If anyone else would like a critique of their final projects, my office hours are posted.”

The rabble of students around his desk groaned and dispersed while Spock packed up his things. Admiral Pike waited patiently by his desk. The man always seemed to regard him with kindness, if a little bit of humor. Spock didn’t mind his demeanor, even if it occasionally set off an unusual reaction from him. Pike found him _funny,_ but did not find him _silly._ It was an important distinction.

Although he tried to think of his time aboard the _USS Theseus_ as little as possible, he had to admit that his time (most of his time) as first officer was productive, fulfilling, and enjoyable. Together, they walked back towards Pike’s office. Spock noticed Pike’s walk still had a limp in it. His leg had not healed entirely from his last posting, a matter of which Spock held some guilt.

“How’s your teaching going this semester, Spock? Am I getting any admirals out of them?”

“There are one or two promising possibilities,” Spock responded, “Although I am not in the position to determine their leadership qualifications.”

“Like hell. You’ve served on a starship, you design the sims, you know about as well as anyone what makes a good leader.”

Spock decided to pointedly ignore the comment about his past position. “I do not _judge_ the simulations, Captain. They are graded automatically via the simulation computer.”

“Yeah, the one that you _designed!”_

It was small talk. Humans in particular were fond of it, he found. Spock had gotten … _better_ at it, though by no means exemplary.

In Admiral Pike’s office, he regarded the model ships on the counter with curiosity. Pike was a collector of these trinkets, though Spock noticed that the _USS Theseus_ was mysteriously absent from his collection.

There was a new one on the counter. Ah. Was that the new starship that Starfleet had constructed? Spock hadn’t recalled seeing its name officially published yet, but there had been a few suggestions postulated. _USS Serendipity, USS Steadfast, USS Discipline …_ they had been fond of morals recently.

“Now, how come I can’t get you in a starship again, Mr. Spock?” Pike’s voice boomed behind him.

Spock jumped, his attention shaken as he turned back to him. _Vulcans do not jump. Control yourself._ “Excuse me?”

“I mean it. You’re one of the best science officers we’ve got here and you were a fantastic first officer. It is a damn shame I can’t get you back out there.”

“With respect, I disagree.”

“How do you figure?”

Spock could have, and did, come up with a list of a dozen reasons why it wouldn’t be a good idea, but none of them formed themselves into words. He could only feel them as emotions, deep inside of him. He could only feel the stabbing needles of panic, could hear the alarms, could see the ship drift away from the claustrophobic safety of an escape pod. _I could only watch. I did nothing to help._

If it were fear, a lack of self-confidence, or simply trauma, Spock immediately renamed it as rationality and logic. _I am not suited to be on a starship. There is precedence for that belief. No, not belief. That statement of fact._

“My talents are better used here.”

“So that new starship wasn’t tempting you? Top of the line. At least let me get you in a recertification sim to get your clearance up-to-date.”

Spock’s eyes drifted towards the new model on the desk. It _was_ sleek, and if the rumors of what he heard was true, it would undoubtedly be the flagship of the Federation. To be on such a vessel would place oneself in history. A five-year mission of exploration.

 _Five years was a very long opportunity for something to go wrong._

“Only theorizing about using such a design in my lesson for next week,” Spock remarked, turning back towards Admiral Pike. His face fell a little, but he recovered quickly.

“Hard nut to crack, Spock, but I’ll have to insist on you at least getting your clearance again. I want at least a chance to get the best crew on the _Enterprise_.”

Ah, that had been the decided upon name. Fine enough, Spock did not really have an opinion. The guilt trip rolled over Spock uselessly, but Pike would likely not budge on this issue. “The crew of the _Enterprise_ will be fine, Captain, but if you insist, I will participate in the recertification simulation.”

“Yeah? Fantastic. I’ll take a look at your schedule and make an appointment for you. We’ll use one of the old ones, before your time, so you don’t have a leg up.” He straightened up suddenly, wiping the imaginary dirt off of his pants and shooting Spock a wide grin. “Alright, I just wanted to ride your ass about that. Thanks, Commander Spock. I’ll let you know when you’re signed up.”

Hesitant thoughts were still filling his brain as he exited the office and, soon, the Academy as a whole. It was late; the stars shone overhead. It wasn’t like Spock had a grand attachment to San Francisco, just another Terran city, but …

Could he really leave it? He looked up at the stars and remembered most of his time onboard the _Theseus_ warmly. Pike was an effective leader, near-telepathic in his sympathetic ability. People liked him. He had done good work, even if most of his physical data had been destroyed.

And yet, no enjoyable position could outweigh how it had ended. Spock wondered if Pike had been disappointed at his promotion to Admiral when he returned, almost ensuring that he would not be placed on a starship again. If it had bothered him, they had not spoken on the topic.

Stranger things could happen, he supposed, trying to remain hopeful. A decade ago, his dearest wish was to remain on Vulcan for his studies. Now, that dream seemed grey and monotone, given what he had seen in the galaxy. Two years ago, his dearest wish had been to remain the stars, to perform his work according to the high standards of Starfleet.

Now?

He didn’t know what he wanted.

He decided to walk home, enjoying the cool-but-not-cold weather and the faint music playing from the nearby bars. All around him, people dined and danced on rooftops. Spock could hear laughter. People were _happy_ planetside. This environment would clear his head of such absurd thoughts as being on a starship again. He would go home and play his lute and a round of chess against his computer. Maybe two. He could brew tea.

Spock had no _friends_ to speak of, that was true, unless Pike counted still. Nothing went beyond a purely professional relationship. However, he communicated with his mother frequently enough and he constantly had social interaction with his students. Pike often went out of his way to talk with him. That fulfilled the necessary social requirement his human side demanded.

Daily, he went home, he ate, he meditated, he slept for a short period of time after reading or playing chess. His needs were met. He could ask for nothing.

Rounding the corner, Spock caught sight of a new drinking establishment with blaring lights shining onto the street. It was evidently quite crowded, with a big, burly man standing guard at the door. Drunk individuals spilled out, arms around one another, helping one another home (or, alternatively, trying to get someone home). As he approached, he saw the guard grab a young male human by the collar and pull him into the street. He must’ve been exceptionally drunk, as he immediately slammed a hand onto the brick wall and vomited all over his feet.

Sometimes, he wondered if he was ever missing inner purpose by not fully embracing his human biology.

This was not one of those times.

Why did they have to open _another_ bar in the middle of the city? In the middle of his walk home, for that matter? Surely one was sufficient for the entire city. There were hundreds.

Spock looked to see if he could cross the street to avoid such a place at all costs. There were strobing lights visible against the side windows of the establishment, displaying a tightly packed room of people … dancing. Touching. _No thank you._

There was no walkway, no way to cross that didn’t involve potentially being hit by a speeding hovercar. Instead, he just pushed through the throng of people at the door, trying to continue his path down the sidewalk, until –

“Hey, look, boys, it’sa Vulcan,” a different drunken man slurred, stumbling out of the crowd at the front door from where he’d been waiting in line. _Half-Vulcan._ Two equally impaired lackeys flanked him. A large, warm hand slapped down on his shoulder. Spock’s breath caught in his throat. The grip wasn’t tight, but he was being _touched._ “You gonna – you gonna read my _mind_ or something, pointy … eh … ears?”

 _Pointy ears._ Spock couldn’t say that he was wrong, precisely.

No signs indicated that the man was hostile yet, more like a man who had found something shiny on the street. A toy. The man would be easy enough to dispatch, but Spock didn’t want to make a scene in public. Nor did he want to rile the man further, perhaps even escalate him into violence. How would it look, a physically superior Vulcan taking down a defenseless, impaired human man?

His eyes rose to meet the drunken man’s. A dim, clouded gaze met his, not breaking eye contact. This man was drunk and unafraid.

One of the core beliefs in Vulcan philosophy was pacifism. Typically, they would resort to diplomacy before violence through self-defense. Spock did not think diplomacy would work for this particular … person.

He flinched as his ears were flicked. _It would look bad to dispatch him,_ he tried to persuade himself. “Whaddaya do, _sharpen_ these real fine? They look kinda … crinkled.”

 _Vulcans are pacifists. Pacifists,_ Spock told himself, withstanding the touch. The man in front of him was drunk and drooling and _stupid,_ it would be _irrational_ to attack him. Diplomacy was always a valid solution; he at least had to _try._

“Release me,” he commanded, and the man cackled in his face. His breath smelled of alcohol. Spock raised his hand – a nerve pinch would incapacitate but not harm, and really, he just wanted to be free of this entire encounter. He had explored all of his options. This man was so drunk that people likely wouldn’t question his sudden lapse of consciousness. “I will not ask again.”

“ _Hey! Dicks-for-brains!”_

The man who had vomited all over the wall earlier was staggering over to Spock. Tension started to build in Spock’s shoulders. _This is going to turn into an incident, isn’t it?_ He had been trained in combat and he did not _mind_ it, but that did not mean he actively sought it. A true Starfleet officer would not.

Planting himself next to Spock and the burly man, he slurred, “Vulcan _said_ to get your hands offa him.”

“Wha’s this, defendin’ your pet computer? I’m not doin’ nothin’ to him.” The taunt didn’t sting, but this new contestant’s intrusion shocked Spock enough that he dropped his hand to his side. Both the attacker and this new man were heavily drunk, both speaking in slurred, confused tones that made Spock feel as if he were watching the event through a fishbowl.

“Pet computer – heh!” At the joke, the blue-eyed man feigned a large, hearty belly laugh, which the tormentors chimed in on. Spock had a sinking feeling of déjà vu back to his school days, but suddenly, the laughing cut off.

In an instant, the human had punched his tormentor right in the face, flinging him backwards into the arms of his companions.

It wasn’t like Spock to get stunned into silence, but he had found himself placed in such an illogical, bizarre situation that he froze in place. _For a drunk man, that was a well-placed attack._ The large man, already brought down by alcohol, seemed content to fall back on the pavement as his two other cronies leapt forward to revenge their fallen friend.

His companion darted forward, getting one in a choke-hold. Spock took the opportunity to perform a nerve pinch on the other, immobilizing him and laying him on the ground without too much additional hassle. He watched this strange man attempt to choke the attacker into unconsciousness, but, both just making a fool of themselves, finished with punching him with such an intensity that he fell onto the other two. _That attack was considerably less well-placed._

“Hey!” The bouncer shouted at the front of the club. The crowd of people obscured the guard’s vision; otherwise, Spock doubted he would be so calm. “No fighting on my fuckin’ street. Get the hell out of here.”

“Fuck you, buddy!”

His companion really was a poet, but Spock feared that he would get both of them in trouble. He looked like he wanted to go on; Spock placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him. Instead, he turned around to regard Spock blearily. “You okay?”

What an odd question. Spock hadn’t been touched at all, and really, a fight hadn’t really been necessary. And yet the man was looking at him, concerned, like they were dear friends. They had worked remarkably in-tandem together in the fight; at least, neither of them had gotten hurt. Unusual. Interesting.

“I. Yes, but – “

Before he could finish, his companion lurched forward, vomiting once more over Spock’s shoes. He would have lost his balance entirely if Spock hadn’t caught him, slinging one arm over his shoulder. In a second, he went limp and Spock had to bear his entire weight. 

And there he was, on the street, with a mostly unconscious man slung over his shoulders and vomit on his shoes.

The strangest night he’d ever had since stepping off Vulcan, including the night where Pike had offered him a cigar and a bar of chocolate for his promotion to Commander.

He considered the hospital, but after checking his breathing, Spock decided against it. The human’s skin was smooth and warm, his pulse within the standard range, he responded to external stimuli. He was experiencing intoxication, but Spock did expect severe alcohol poisoning. Still, observation was recommended to make certain that he didn’t asphyxiate in his sleep or grow worse. Though, Spock noted grimly, it seemed as if he had _already_ evacuated most of the contents of his stomach.

Spock had never invited someone into his home before, but he was at a loss for what else he could do. The clinic was long since closed on Starfleet campus for anything but emergencies. Perhaps he could get the man awake enough to find out where he lived. He could, theoretically, root through his pockets for a wallet or communicator … but that felt like a gross invasion of privacy.

So, he situated his companion’s arms over his shoulder and walked. He would wait until Jim naturally woke up and send him on his way.

Vulcan natural strength allowed him to easily climb the stairs of his apartment building with this man using him for support, even as he occasionally twitched or mumbled things under his breath. Spock was still reeling from the event, though that was quickly becoming overshadowed with disgust at his shoes.

He entered his apartment. _What a delightful guest,_ he thought wryly to himself, as he placed him on the couch.

After a quick change, Spock returned to the living room. His companion was still on his side where he had left him, fast asleep. The front of his shirt was disgusting, and Spock wasn’t entirely certain he wouldn’t roll off the sofa in the night. His floors were hardwood. It would be an unpleasant way to wake up, not to mention the possibility for skull injury.

Shoving his arm around his shoulders again, Spock carried him to his bedroom.

Spock let him fall onto the bed and he neatly pulled his shirt over his shoulders. Only a mild feeling of anxiety plagued him (stripping off a stranger’s shirt in his bedroom also felt oddly invasive), but he completed the action with all the efficiency of an android.

“S’s nah’ –“ He mumbled under his fingers as Spock arranged him on his side again. “Sent alert. Get ou’ _._ Gonna … red. _”_

Drunken babbling. Raising an eyebrow, Spock started to tuck him in. The man was less likely to roll around that way. Spock wasn’t entirely sure where he was going to sleep, now, but he had a meditation mat on the floor. He’d slept on that before, when he had first moved in. He only needed a few hours, anyway.

He picked the man’s shirt up, beginning to fold it. A wallet fell out of the front pocket, and Spock picked it up to inspect it.

_Oh._

_James Tiberius Kirk._ George Kirk’s son. With a slack face and a five o’clock shadow, Spock had scarcely recognized him. The man who had caused the death of a fellow crewmate and summarily discharged from his post. Everyone knew the general story; it was used as a lesson in a few ethics courses, but Spock hadn’t realized he’d been staying in the same city where he’d received his education and his discharge. He had, apparently, been well beloved and quite popular – Spock suspected that was how he had escaped imprisonment.

Spock raised his eyebrow, gingerly placing the wallet on the nightstand. He retrieved a PADD and flicked through articles about the trial, his curiosity piqued. It had happened so long ago that he’d forgotten some details – _Had it been his first officer? Had he jettisoned the man out the airlock? Had he claimed temporary insanity?_

After setting out his meditation mat, Spock departed to the kitchen to make tea. It was going to be a long night, he predicted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter!
> 
> This one's a bit longer. Just wanted to get some advance that the next chapter will be coming out Saturday instead of Sunday next week. 
> 
> The timelines in this work are a little wobbly (and I think it gets more apparent in this chapter, which is why I'm making this note); I've considered it a total AU for that reason and just tried not to worry too much about relative ages. Essentially, it is where Jim went through Starfleet Academy without Bones and only met him /after/ his trial, as he works in the Starfleet clinic and God knows Jim spends his time there. Similarly, Spock went through Starfleet Academy and served on a ship named the USS Theseus with Captain Pike. Also trying to keep the exact details of the boys' respective traumas a little mysterious -- for now! That's also why I've been playing a little loosey goosey with the episode Court Martial itself - mostly just taken certain names, dates, situations but otherwise I've changed everything to make it a surprise/more dramatic, more in line with what we know from AOS, or because it just didn't flow with the plot of the work. I promise we won't be finding Finney alive and well on the Enterprise ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. The Morning After

This was not his shitty bedroom _or_ his shitty couch.

Jim shot straight up in bed as soon as he came to the realization, feeling across his bare chest for his wallet uselessly. _Oh, shit. Did I come home with someone?_ He didn’t remember that much, besides going to the new bar alone – thanks, Bones – and itching for a fight to work out his emotions in a _healthy_ way.

Actually, that was probably unhealthy, wasn’t it? Yeah. Definitely unhealthy. He always got those two confused before noon or after 10 PM.

God, why was it so _hot_ in here? Jim was sweating uncomfortably, and the sheets and blankets around him were damp. It must’ve been 30 C in there, easily, and there were still thick woolen blankets on the bed. He even felt somewhat dizzy as he stood, mouth dry and head aching. _Yeah. Let me get some water._

Finding his wallet on the table, Jim tucked it into his pants. His shirt was clean and hanging up on the door. Hey, at least he went home with someone considerate. The hungover stung, but he could manage. He was a big boy.

 _Did I have sex last night?_ His pants were on, but that didn’t really mean anything. He had sex with his pants on a _lot._

He gingerly tiptoed down the hallway, trying to find the owner of the apartment … or, alternatively, trying to find a way out of the apartment before he alerted the owner of the apartment.

It was immaculate. Not a hair out of place, no bit of dust anywhere, barely any decoration to speak of. Jim wasn’t sure if he’d woken up in someone’s apartment or in a weird psychology lab. He looked down to make sure that he didn’t have a kidney scar. No, just someone oddly clean and neat. Even the replicator was shiny and polished in the corner. _Wow._ The rest of the apartment still had that sweltering heat, to Jim’s chagrin.

He heard noises coming from the kitchen. Faced with nowhere else to go, he stuck his head out to see who The Guy Behind Door Number One was.

“Shit, did I sleep with a Vulcan?”

That … was meant to be internal. Jim also wasn’t very good at distinguishing between internal and external while hungover and dehydrated.

The guy didn’t even twitch. He just turned around to him and held out a mug of coffee in his hands. Jim didn’t know his name, but he was pretty sure he was in love with the guy already for the gesture.

“No. I slept on my meditation mat.”

Oh. Right, well, that made sense _and_ gave him another indication that he didn’t come home with a creep. He looked him over, noting the man’s physique. _Holy shit, he’s hot as hell._ Jim didn’t think he would’ve been too displeased if he _had_ ended up sleeping with him, though, shit, Jim had to admit that he would’ve been _way_ too drunk to do so. He couldn’t even remember last night.

“Yeah, of course, I was just, uh, joking.” He hadn’t been. “Anyway,” he continued, feeling the coffee warm his fingers. “You think you could give me a blow-by-blow of last night? Because I’m blanking. Also, uh, what’s your name?”

“Spock.”

“Just … Spock?”

“You are hungover. I do not believe you could pronounce my full name even in your baseline state.”

Fair enough. He’d heard Vulcan language before; it was intense. Jim just didn’t think he had the physical biology to speak their language perfectly, and few non-Vulcans knew the language to begin with. He pulled up a chair and looked at Spock expectantly. The question was wordless, but obvious. _Why?_

“I was approached by a group of drunk individuals who refused to leave. You had been thrown out of the establishment and intervened.”

“They were giving you a hard time?”

“Not in particular.” Something on Spock’s face twitched.

“Then why did I … ?”

“I am not certain. He refused to release me and you attacked him.”

“God, I’m such a _good_ guy,” Jim sighed in annoyance at himself, rubbing at his forehead. _Starting trouble when there wasn’t any trouble to begin with is on brand, you have to admit. You’re lucky you didn’t get arrested._ He raised the cup to his lips and drank – before nearly choking on it. Gagging, he managed to get it down, but it took nearly every ounce of his strength. It was worse than just black, it tasted like it was _rotten._ “The – the hell – “

An apologetic expression crossed his face. “That is intended to help alleviate your symptoms. I apologize if you find it distasteful.”

“Yeah, pretty sure I’m not gonna have any symptoms when I’m dead.” Jim pushed the mug away from him, before realizing that … uh, that was pretty rude. The guy didn’t have to make that for him. He cleared his throat. “So you brought me back to your place?”

“I did. You were unconscious and I could not discern where you lived.”

Jim stared at him for a second, trying to figure it out. The guy didn’t know him and just … carted him back off to his apartment?

Defensively, Spock added, “It was my intent to wait until you were conscious, so I could return you to your home. You did not regain consciousness until this morning, though I checked on you several times during the night.”

“Oh. Well, that’s, uh. Really kind of you?”

“I am uncertain as to what else I was supposed to do in that situation.”

“Leave my ass on the street?” Spock frowned at that but didn’t respond. Jim tried to get a glance at what he was doing on the counter, before realizing he was slicing up fruit. That was that smell. _Mango_. His stomach growled appreciatively. The replicator did a lot of things right – synthesized meat, grains, dairy, but there was something missing about its fruit and vegetables, at least in Jim’s opinion. He was a little biased, growing up in Iowa. Just couldn’t beat fresh, and _that_ smelled fresh. “I’ll, uh. I’ll get out of your hair in a second, just let me get my bearings.”

“It is fine. Take time to correct yourself, Mr. Kirk.”

He knew his name.

He knew his _goddamn_ name, and suddenly, Jim felt his world shrink down to only two things – the Vulcan who had taken him home, and the front door of his apartment.

Instinctively, Jim clenched. When Spock turned around, he had a plate of toast and mango prepared that he set in front of him. He didn’t look at it. “How –“ His voice was shaking. _What the hell is wrong with you? Get a hold of yourself._

“Your wallet fell out of your shirt when I washed it. It was since returned.”

“Great.” Jim stood up from the table, immediately giving into the urge to flee and never look back at this place. His stomach protested, smelling breakfast, but it was drowned out by the sheer fight-or-flight instinct coursing through his veins. _He knows who I am. I have to get out of here._ “Well – thanks for the place to crash, Spock, but I think I’ve got to go. “

Spock turned around in confusion, but Jim was already up and going towards the door. He wasn’t going to wait around for Spock to bring up the court martial, because God knew some head-up-his-ass neat freak wanted to talk about it. Jim wasn’t in the mood for a Q&A, BFF Killer edition.

And _maybe_ he was overreacting, but the walls already felt like they were constricting him and he didn’t owe a damn thing to this guy. He didn’t ask for anything. He didn’t depend on anyone for anything.

He just needed to get out of there as soon as possible.

Spock’s voice drifted behind him, and Jim was aware that Spock was following him through the apartment.

“Mr. Kirk, are you – “

But Jim had already waited for the door to slide open. He stormed through it, and he didn’t hear Spock following him after. _Home. Get home._

***

Jo was quietly drawing on the carpet in front of them. She was always so neat, Jim mused in admiration, must’ve got it from her dad. A stack of finished drawings was to her right, a stack of unused paper was to her left, a bowl of animal crackers was in front of her. This was the kid’s happy place.

Jim was sitting with actual coffee next to Bones, leaning back in his chair. Bones had the news on his PADD open in front of him. Two plates were resting in the sink – Jim had _promised_ to wash them, but he was putting it off. The autowash would get to it, eventually. Besides, he had helped make breakfast.

After his little rendezvous with Spock, he had went back to his place, showered, changed, and realized there was absolutely nothing in his fridge.

And now he was at Bones’, half-babysitting.

“So,” Bones drolled, before looking over his paper at him. “I’m taking it you actually went to that bar last night.”

Bones knew him too well. “Yeah.”

“You didn’t invert your nose. I’m proud.”

“Yeah, uh … “ Jim trailed off, shaking his head. The events of this morning were still throwing him off. Waking up in the apartment of a handsome-as-hell Vulcan … and subsequently acting like an asshole and storming out. He rubbed the back of his hair, distracted. “Yeah.”

Letting out a disappointed sigh, Bones corrected himself: “You got into trouble. Damn it, Jim.”

“Sort of.” Jim figured that he _had_ to tell someone. He felt a little guilty, after all, but more than that – he felt worried. When Bones swore, he glanced over towards Jo, but she didn’t seem to be paying attention. Good. “I don’t remember a lot of it.”

“You don’t look like you got into a fight. You just assume, or?”

“Uh, someone took me took their place.”

Bones’ annoyed jibes quickly shifted into concern. He put the PADD down and leaned forward in his chair, questions written all over his face. Jim felt bad about the way his eyes scanned over Jim’s body, as if he was Superman-ing injuries on him already.

“Apparently, a group of guys started harassing him, and I stepped in and made them back off. And, uh, passed out after.” Jim winced. Why did most of his stories involve him passing out at some point? “He said that he took me home so he could ask where I lived when I woke up, but then I slept until morning.”

“You didn’t sleep together?”

Jim wasn’t sure if he ought to be offended that that was Bones’ original assumption, but given his history, it wasn’t surprising. Besides, he could tell Bones was asking it from a place of concern. “Uh, no. He let me sleep in his bed, though, but apparently he just slept – or meditated – or whatever, on his mat. He also cleaned my shirt.”

Bones rose an eyebrow in confusion.

“He’s Vulcan.”

“Vulcan? You don’t see many of those in San Fran. What’s he doing on Earth? They’re homebodies.”

“I didn’t exactly stick around for smalltalk, Bones. I was out of there basically as soon as I woke up.”

Bones shrugged his shoulders, reaching for the bowl of fruit in the middle of the table and taking a bite out of it. Jim wondered whose idea that was – Bones didn’t really do things like put fruit in bowls on tables. Maybe that was Jocelyn’s doing.

“Well, I want to buy him a beer, whenever I see him, not that it’ll do much for him. At least he saved me from hauling your ass home at midnight. _Again.”_

“If you ever see a drop dead sexy Vulcan running around named Spock, that’s your guy.”

Bones twitched to life. “Spock? I think he’s half-Vulcan, actually.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you know him.”

“Know him? Jim, I’m surprised _you_ don’t.” Jim blinked at him stupidly. “He was the first officer on the _USS Theseus._ The ship that got blasted to hell by a Romulan warbird? Almost everyone on the crew ended up dead?” At Jim’s blank stare, Bones prompted, “Almost went to war over it?”

Jim’s expression was clearly dumbfounded. “Uh, sorry, _when_ did this happen?”

“Almost a year ago, maybe?”

“Oh, yeah. That explains it. That was right after – y’know, I just heard about it way, _way_ after the fact.” he elaborated, already feeling himself start to warm up under the collar. _Jesus, you’re so fucking sensitive, Jim._ “I think there was a couple of months where I was just continually blacked out. Sure as hell wasn’t keeping up on Starfleet news.”

Given Bones’ soft expression on his face and the way he was clearly biting the inside of his cheek, Jim figured he shouldn’t dwell on that. That was basically the state where Bones had found him, after all. “Uh, so what’s he still doing here in San Francisco? Why isn’t he back on board a starship? That was a Romulan attack, I can’t imagine _he_ got court martialed for it.”

Wow, was there jealousy in his voice? Jesus, what was _wrong_ with him?

“I don’t know why he didn’t take another assignment, but he’s a professor now. Designs the training sims and a thousand other things.” Bones poured himself more coffee. “Spoke to him once at a conference. He’s a fucking genius but … let’s call him eccentric. Pretty much the opposite of you.”

He was _pretty_ sure Bones just called him stupid, but Jim had been temporarily distracted his hangover and how _wow, those lights are really bright, huh_. And honestly, he couldn’t really argue with that. His recent actions didn’t exactly scream ‘motivated and intelligent individual’. _And to think, once you got full recommendations for the science officer track._

“Yeah, yeah. Who was the Captain on the _Theseus_?”

“Admiral Pike. Captain back then, but I think he got a promotion when he got back. Something about risking life and limb during the evac sequence, but I didn’t, ah, I didn’t follow that part.”

Jim stiffened a little in his chair in horror.

_Ah, shit. ‘Course it had to be Pike._

He wondered if, even now, Spock was bustling off to his old mentor to tell everyone what had happened the previous night. That Jim Kirk, once the poster boy for what a captain should be, had to be carried home after vomiting all over himself. _It shouldn’t bother you. Pike probably hasn’t thought about you in months. Fuck him. Who cares? If he hates you, good, you can’t say you don’t deserve it._

If that were the case, Jim probably wouldn’t be feeling like he was going to toss his breakfast. The world spun.

Setting his forehead on the table, Jim groaned. “Fuck. Guess he’s gonna spread the news around on what George’s kid has been up to.”

“Yeah, okay. Vulcans aren’t really known for gossip, Jim.”

“It’s not gossip if it’s fucking _true,_ Bones. Can you say something to him?”

“No? I’m not cleaning up after this mess, Jim. You got yourself into this one.” Bones put the PADD in front of his face again – whether to avoid talking to him or whether he really wanted to know the sports scores, Jim didn’t know – and kept on going. “Besides. I don’t think he’s got anyone to gossip _to._ Guy keeps to himself, from what I see of him.”

Jim didn’t know whether to trust Bones on this or not. If word got around to Pike … he couldn’t have Pike seeing him like this. He hadn’t heard from Pike during the trial because he’d been smack dab aboard the _Theseus_ in the Beta Quadrant, so he could remain blissfully ignorant about what Pike really thought. 

_What,_ a little voice told him in the back of his mind, _you think he doesn’t already regret bringing you into Starfleet? You think you being a worthless drunk is going to make things any worse than the court saying you murdered someone?_

 _I don’t want him to think I’m just like my stepdad,_ Jim responded to the little voice, which he was pretty sure was a fledgling sign of insanity. _Murderer, okay, but not a violent drunk._

 _Fuck it._ He’d have to take the risk and talk to Spock again. Just _talk,_ he told himself, he wasn’t going to lay his hands on him. Maybe he could be a _little_ intimidating, but Spock did save his ass for the night – he wouldn’t hurt him.

As he considered it, he wished there was a way he could just strike himself from everyone at the Academy’s memories forever. That part of his life was over. It had been blissful, amazing, congratulatory … and over.

“Sure you didn’t get a comm number off him? You could try and convince him to keep his lips shut,” Bones grumbled behind the news PADD, his eyes glued to it. Jim had a feeling that Bones wasn’t sure how much to encourage this.

“No, I freaked out and left.” Bones rolled his eyes from the table. Pushing himself up, Jim asked conversationally, “You know when he’s gonna be in his office?”

Bones tapped on his PADD for a moment, apparently looking up hours, and shoved a room number and office hours note towards him. “I can’t promise that nobody’s going to be in the building who won’t recognize you, Jim.”

At first, Jim opened his mouth to say that he’d take those odds, but then he felt something tiny and adorable tugging at the bottom of his shirt.

“Mr, Jim,” a tiny voice ordered him, presenting a half-scribble very seriously for consideration.

Hell. Worrying about his name going even further down the gutter could wait. Jo needed an inspirational pep talk.

He took the drawing and considered it for a second, pinching his chin as he did so. The dramatics got a snort out of Bones, who leaned across the table to see what his daughter had drawn.

“This reminds me of the plants I used to see on Omicron Ceta III, but … “ Jim paused to shoot a faux-scathing look towards Bones. “Bones wouldn’t take you _there._ The plants in that system spit _acid. Very_ dangerous. You didn’t fly there in your own starship, did you, Jo? Don’t tell Bones that you broke your curfew.”

Jo giggled, grabbing at the drawing in Jim’s hand. Jim jokingly held it above her head and the young girl jumped for it in response. “No! Daddy! Mr. Jim’s being silly!”

“Yeah, Jim. Obviously, it’s a whirlpool. Look at it.”

“No, ‘s a planet!”

“Why does it have petals if it’s a planet?” Bones asked gruffly, though with a warm fondness behind his eyes. _Bones was a good dad._

“Because some _planets_ have _petals.”_ Unable to take the drawing back from Jim, who was still holding it well over her head, Jo instead pouted and crossed her arms. “Okay. But you _better_ bring it back next time Daddy gets lonely during breakfast.”

Bones choked on his coffee, spilling half of it onto the PADD below. Jim froze for a half-second, feeling like he’d just seen the inside of Bones’ underwear drawer. He turned to smirk at his friend, trying to keep things normal. _Bones doesn’t do touchy-feely. Let’s not make this weird._

“Lonely during breakfast? _Daddy,_ is that why you always let me in during breakfast?”

Shit, he made it weird.

“I think Jim’s got a place to be, starshine. Don’t you, Jim?”

“I don’t know, I think I – “ The note with Spock’s room and time was suddenly shoved towards him again with a little more aggression than _really_ necessary, and Jim noticed that, oops, Spock’s office hours were definitely starting soon. Fun babysitting was over. Back to shitty real life. “Should get going.”

Standing up, Jim noticed Bones wasn’t meeting his eyes. Ah, shit, maybe he’d touched a nerve. Filing that away for later, he reached down for Jo and held her up by her armpits, swinging her around for a second in jovial glee.

Damn it all, he was happiest when babysitting Jo these days. Jo didn’t give a damn that, according to the law and media, he’d gotten a man killed. Jo laughed, flinging her arms out to the sides.

Jim had never thought of himself as extraordinarily good with kids, but … they _were_ the future. And Jo was going to be something special. He personally held out hope for Starfleet, Command track, but Bones looked apoplectic the one and only time he had expressed that.

“Alright, that’s enough space flight for today. Go back to your coloring, doll, I want ten more drawings the next time I see you. On the double.” Jim mocked a salute to her.

Gleefully, Jo settled herself back in the living room, throwing herself down onto the carpet. Bones stood to see him out the door and, like a spectre of awkwardness, followed him to the front entrance.

“Hey, uh,” Jim asked, not really sure _how_ to. “Everything okay with you and Jocelyn?”

Bones gave him a look of ‘ _you really think you’re hot shit, huh._ “Good luck at the Academy, Jim, hope you make it out in one piece. And I better not get a call about you at the bar tonight.”

Before he could response, the door slammed in his face. Jim scheduled it in the back of his mind – _make sure Bones isn’t crying himself to sleep every night –_ and then made his way to the Academy.

The last time he’d been in the non-clinic portion of the Academy, they’d been stripping medals off him.

He wondered if they still had that good vending machine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Thank you for your comments, it's been very fun reading them and seeing people's reactions to the chapter!   
> As for next week's chapter, unfortunately I'm still going to be away, so it likely won't get published until next Wednesday (the 23rd or so), but this chapter's a little longer to make up for it.   
> Here, I wanted to further establish the four main players in the fic -- Jim and Spock (the mains, obvs), but also Bones and Pike, and how each of their relationships overlap with one another. Also wanted to explore Jim's trauma more, and his perceptions of himself and his interactions with other people.   
> Thank you to all readers! :)


	4. Making a Friend

Admiral Pike was crunching on an apple in Spock’s office. Pike didn’t normally eat lunch there, but when evaluation reports of students came out, he liked to hide. People rarely went to Spock’s office unless they had a _very_ good reason or a troupe of fellow students for moral support.

The crunching and smacking noise didn’t irritate him so much. What irritated him was that it was the only sound in the room; it felt like it was reverberating off the walls of his office. Replicator food never seemed to have the texture and snap that natural foods had; most considered that the main drawback of the replicator. Now, Spock missed it. With access to actual grown apples, Pike was such a _loud_ eater.

It brought back memories of Pike and Spock eating in the lounge of the _Theseus_ , alone, quietly discussing details of the day. Pike never went for very long without inviting someone else to sit with them back then. Now, at least, Spock was grateful that Pike wasn’t inviting anyone else in.

“That’s a new one, isn’t it, Mr. Spock?” Admiral Pike shifted the apple to his other hand, pointing at one of the photos on the walls.

Human aesthetics had always been unfamiliar to Spock. He still hadn’t gotten used to what humans dictated as beautiful. The massive bust and memorial of George Kirk was, to use a human phrase, tacky. Although not a designer, he had slowly started putting things around his office, mostly at Admiral Pike’s suggestion. Apparently, an empty office with a single desk, quantum computer, and chair was ‘intimidating’.

One of Spock’s main academic endeavors was astronomy; lately, it had been stellar bodies specifically. Planets, mostly. Old ones, new ones, strange ones, dying ones. He had thrown a few photos of them up to decorate the otherwise bleak walls of his office.

(Ironically enough, his father would turn his nose up at the room for being far too human. Vulcans, his father would argue, did not require such large _offices_ ).

“Recently discovered. I used it as an example in one of my lectures, as to explain what to do when approaching an undiscovered, uncontacted planet.”

“Betting it’s real poisonous or something, right?”

“Actually, preliminary reports indicate that it has water and contains enough oxygen to sustain life. Unfortunately, the astrothermal eruptions on its surface prevent extended study.”

Pike nodded along with him, before putting the apple core on the desk. Spock knew that he had to take his chance now to ask a question that had been in his mind all morning.

He had been looking up Jim Kirk in the Academy databases. What had started as a mild curiosity had grown into fascination. An otherwise untarnished Starfleet captain who had gotten the highest marks in every Starfleet course and had gotten full recommendations for the science, command, _and_ security tracks, who had gotten numerous awards for his acts of heroism and dedication to duty, who had the lowest fatality rates of any starship captain, suddenly murdering an old crewmember? Even taking into account human emotional changeability … it was odd.

The records had stated that it was a temporary mental breakdown or an old act of revenge, which seemed to be the prevailing public opinion. Spock wondered if they had considered the possibility of a simple mistake – one wrong pushed button. Sentient error was never zero. 

Although he and Pike had been on board the _Theseus_ during the trial, Spock had found an old letter of recommendation from the man in Jim’s file, shown during the trial. It had been glowing, to put it mildly.

“Admiral,” he asked conversationally, pushing aside a few starship holo diagrams on his desk. “Were you ever in the company of James T. Kirk?”

Still staring at the wall, Spock watched Pike stiffen. He turned around just far enough to give him a side-eye, as if judging his motivations. Pike, for as light-hearted and kind as he was, was not stupid or naïve. 

“Why do you ask?”

“It struck me last night that you were stationed at Starfleet Academy during his time here.”

It didn’t quite answer Pike’s question, but Spock did not think he could feign deceit if he offered up a false explanation. Pike knew him too well. Pike considered it for a second, before sighing and tapping his fingers on the desk.

“Yeah. Yeah, I knew him. Knew his dad, too. I was the one who convinced Jim to sign up with the Academy.”

Oh. That hadn’t been his expectation. Spock had predicted a mentor relationship, but not such familiarity. Then again, the recommendation letter had been familiar. Friendly, even.

The memory of the previous night struck him -- Jim’s eyes, looking at him with such concern and warmth, on the side of a dirty street with vomit still dripping off his chin. He had seen that look before. That had been the look Pike had given him (minus the vomit), a thousand times, during his ‘spur of the moment’ visits to his apartment after the destruction of the _Theseus._ Care. Untarnished, unhidden care. 

Perhaps they were rather alike. Spock looked up at his commanding officer expectantly. Pike answered with hesitation.

“He was doing nothing with his life, getting in trouble, and – that’s not what George would’ve wanted.” Pike sighed, curling his fingers into a fist. “Damn it. Not what I wanted for the kid. So he joined Starfleet. Kid had talent.”

“You were close to him, then?”

“Spock, I don’t wanna – “ Pike stopped himself. Was he getting emotional? Spock’s eyes fell on his former Captain, but he saw nothing except a nerve jumping in his jaw. “Look. I haven’t seen him since his assignment to the _USS Republic._ I wish I could’ve been there, but hell, I’m glad I wasn’t. It was terrible for everyone involved.”

“Including, I suspect, friends and family of the victim.”

The look Pike gave him was shocking. It was dark, and accusatory, and _angry._ Pike glared at him, as if he wanted nothing more than to slam his pen into Spock’s hand.

“Spock. You weren’t there for it. Neither was I. Don’t talk like you were.”

That look, the anger of a former commanding officer, inspired a not unfamiliar feeling in him. It was illogical, and thus abhorrent.

Panic.

_The escape pod – Pike sitting across – leaning forward – hands drawn together – we must return, inform him we must return, the others – shut up, Spock._

Spock hadn’t yet fallen to pieces in front of anyone, although the anxiety was plaguing him more and more frequently. He had expected that it would become more manageable over time, that time would ease the strain on his mind. It had not. The strangest things still tightened his airways and put pressure on his chest. Like now – a single angry look from a man he trusted implicitly.

He needed to focus. Something else. Something in his office. That was the point of human aesthetic. _Focus._ What was that photo Pike had commented on? Spock stood slowly, going to inspect it.

An interesting subject, scientifically marvelous and aesthetically pleasing. It appealed to his human and Vulcan sides in turn. Human, because the colors reminded him of a few natural creations on Earth. Vulcan, because the scientific processes responsible for such visuals were well-documented and understood.

Fine. He was fine. He had slowed his breathing and turned back to face Pike. If Pike had noticed his reaction, he did not comment.

The vice-grip on his abdomen seemed to cease and Spock found that he could breathe more easily. There were more questions, which he could ask, because he was _fine._ It was still hard to reconcile the image of Jim Kirk (the Captain) with what he had experienced with Jim Kirk (the drunk). “Do you know where he is, now?”

“No. After the trial, after _Theseus_ happened … I tried to get into touch with him. Nothing. I don’t think he stayed in the city, though.”

“Why not?”

“Hell, Spock. Would you?”

Spock did not know what he would do. It was such an illogical question, and an illogical situation to put himself in, that he could not formulate an answer. Still, his suspicions were confirmed. Nobody knew that Jim Kirk was still in the city.

For a second, Spock considered telling Pike. This man clearly cared about Jim, and perhaps it was an injustice in not spreading information. What if Pike wanted to help him? But why would Pike want to assist someone who clearly defied Starfleet values?

He did not tell him. Further analysis was needed about the effects of such a confession. There was the potential that it could just stress the Admiral unnecessarily, and Spock did not want to cause unnecessary suffering.

“It’s a damn tragedy. Is what it is.”

Pike’s watch began to beep – a terribly old fashioned thing that it was – and he stood, groaning a little and touching the small of his back. Spock had never thought of Pike as old (humans seemed to age so rapidly, their rate of deterioration was frankly absurd) but he knew that the Admiral’s injuries from the _Theseus_ still plagued him. “Got to go corral the little shits who want to fly the big starship, now.”

“My condolences, Admiral.”

“Yeah, yeah, Ears, I’m sure you’re torn up about it. See you later. Remember about your sim appointment.”

Oh, he had nearly forgotten. The simulation required of every Starfleet officer grounded for longer than six months in order to renew their clearance. He checked his calendar to make certain he had a reminder.

After Pike vacated his office, Spock continued to write for some time longer. In the end, he supposed, it did not matter. Jim had run from his apartment and he did not have a way to contact him. There was nothing he could do – and why did he want to do anything, regardless? He owed nothing to this man.

And yet … it was as if he had found one story in an entire library that captured his interest since he’d returned. A study in human behavior.

 _Poetic,_ again. His father would disapprove. Not that it mattered, his father had not contacted him since he had left. Spock had half-heartedly hoped that his father would contact him after the _Theseus_ destruction, because his father always seemed to make things logical and objective for him, but it had been his mother alone. Even then, Spock had managed to underexaggerate the situation enough to prevent her visiting him.

The door opened again and Spock looked up. Perhaps Pike had returned to actually trash the apple core left on Spock’s desk.

Instead, with a swagger in his step, Jim Kirk walked into his room and flashed him a half-grin.

 _Oh. Oh no._ He hadn’t wanted this.

“I don’t remember the Academy halls being so empty. They strengthen admission requirements or what?”

It was Jim Kirk.

He looked slightly more put-together than Spock had noted that morning. The bloodshot eyes and the scruff were there, still, the look of a man who had been drinking too much for too long.

More importantly: what on _Earth_ was he doing here? Jim had stormed out of his apartment; he had not expected to see him again. How did he even find out his work? Suspicion gripped Spock.

“When I was joining, they let any son of a bitch in, so I’d understand. They looked over my criminal record like it was nothing. Not that I had a _big_ one. I mean, back then. Obviously not, now.”

“They’re reading performance reports at the assembly. I imagine the halls are quite empty as a result.”

Jim grinned at him like they were old friends. It was disarming. “I remember that. That basically decides what ship you get put on. Some rust bucket out by the mining colonies or … “

“The USS _Enterprise.”_ Spock supplied in what was otherwise a highly awkward situation. Why was Jim _here?_

“If that’s supposed to be a good ship, then yeah, I haven’t kept up.” Jim fell in the chair opposite Spock’s desk, where Admiral Pike had previously sat. “I, uh. Wanted to thank you again for last night. I left in a rush this morning.”

Spock’s gaze was questioningly baffled. ‘In a rush’ was inaccurate. He had stormed out after growing angry at him.

“How did you know where I work?” He didn’t think that he had left any traces of his Academy life in his apartment.

“I’ve got a friend who works here. That doesn’t matter, I – “ Uncertainty seemed to plague Jim for a second, hand creeping towards the arm of the chair and gripping it hard, before he continued. Spock blinked at him. Did Jim also struggle with anxiety? Guilt, perhaps, for the murder of a crewmember? “Look, shit, I guess I should just get to the point. Have you told anyone what happened?”

“No. I haven’t.”

“Seriously? Nobody?”

The urgency of the man in front of him was … odd. It made Spock tense. “I haven’t.”

“Thank God.” Jim collapsed in his chair, tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling. “Look, what do I have to do to convince you not to tell anyone?”

“It was not in my immediate plans to tell anyone, so nothing.”

Jim looked at him just enough to regard him with a wary eye. He disbelieved him. That was fine, Spock figured, they were little more than strangers. What was not fine, however, was how Kirk slowly raised himself from his chair to lean over Spock’s desk. This was threatening, or otherwise meant to be.

Looking closer at him, Spock could see parts of George Kirk in his face – the bust of the deceased Captain had a striking resemblance. This had once been a very handsome human male ( _objectively speaking,_ Spock hurriedly corrected himself). Now, he looked exhausted and hungover and _too_ unblemished, a sign of frequent dermal regeneration use.

He was not _un-_ attractive, Spock amended his beliefs, and then discontinued that line of thinking. Not the time. Attraction was a tender topic for him on the best of days, and this most certainly was not the best day.

Spock looked up at Jim curiously. If this was a threat, it was not a very good one.

“ _Good._ Keep it that way, understand? Don’t tell anyone at the Academy, and especially don’t tell Admiral Pike.”

Oh. Spock remembered what Admiral Pike said, how genuinely sad he seemed at Jim’s absence, and realized that Admiral’s fondness for this man was clearly returned. Jim _cared_ what Pike thought about him. Why, then, did they not talk to one another?

“You do not keep in contact with anyone at the Academy?”

“What? Hell, no.” Pushing back on Spock’s desk, Jim turned and walked away towards the opposite end of the office. He stopped in front of the star photos, seemingly inspecting their contents. Spock’s eyes followed him. “That’d be a disaster. Half the people here who still remember me … are probably fucking pissed that I’m not in jail. They might even be right to be pissed.” His back to Spock now, Spock could see the ruin of the man. His shoulders were slumped. One hand was rubbing at his temple nervously, lightly pulling at the hairs there. There were a few grays there, unusual for a man of his young age. 

A few months ago, he had had reason to visit Vulcan to meet with his parents. He had walked across the same corridors that he had as a child, visited the same natural sanctuaries, even caught a glimpse of where he had been taught for _years._

Although he wasn’t formally exiled from Vulcan, there was still a hollowness to returning. That, no matter how much he might try, he was no longer welcome (if he ever had been).

He wondered if Jim was feeling similarly about the hallowed halls of the Academy.

Granted, Spock had not murdered a man.

“Admiral Pike does not wish that you were incarcerated. I have witnessed him speaking of you in glowing terms.”

Spock half wondered if Jim was going to lose his temper if he continued this line of thought. Lately, Spock’s nerves had rendered it … _difficult_ to handle such situations. Thankfully, Jim did not. Instead, with his back to Spock, he raised a hand and brushed it over his neck.

“Yeah. Well.” He raised his head just enough to speak over his shoulder. “You know, Spock, that’s actually kind of worse.”

Spock did not understand entirely – surely having one person on Jim’s side was better than no one – but he didn’t even pretend to understand intricacies of human relationships right now. As Spock watched, something on the wall seemed to strike Jim.

“What’s this one?” Jim asked suddenly, gesturing with one finger towards a particular photo. It was the one that had caught Admiral Pike’s attention – the newest discovery. “What’s its name?”

“There is some debate among the astronomers. By astronomical charts, its name should be Mu Epilson IV. Due to its appearance, that name is under debate in favor of a more … contemporary identification.”

“Why, because it looks like a big daisy?” Jim was grinning widely at it, and Spock felt like he didn’t quite understand the joke. Still, it had perked up Jim’s mood considerably. Calmed him, as it had calmed Spock once. “Is it – I mean, is it due to … it looks like a combustion reaction sucked up in a vacuum draft. Astrothermal venting, maybe.”

Spock was impressed. His Starfleet records were accurate, after all. “A recent asteroid collision left the planet with a high concentration of xanthene on its surface. It also has many natural volcanic eruptions, seemingly scattered all across the surface. During the reaction, it appears to glow as it leaves the atmosphere.”

“I’ll be damned.” Jim laughed, fishing out a piece of paper from his pocket. Spock had pushed himself up from his desk to go stand by him, inspecting the image for himself. _A child’s drawing?_ “Jo-Jo’s gonna love this. Do you mind if I – “ He was already reaching for his communicator to take a photo.

It was the softest that he had ever seen this man in the few hours or so that they had spent together. He didn’t know who this ‘Jo-Jo’ was. A daughter? A bondmate? Still, it was pleasant to see him while he was not drunk, or angry, or running away. He seemed _kindly_ again.

Instead, Spock took the photo off the wall.

He was not exceptionally caring by human standards, Spock told himself, but there was something about Jim that captivated him. Perhaps it was the curious dichotomy of the man who had stepped in to ‘rescue’ him, and the man who had apparently murdered a crew member. The sad drunk and the distinguished Captain.

And Spock wanted to help. It was part of Starfleet, he had been told, to want to help.

“You may take this with you to give to … her,” Spock finished, uncertain. “If you have a conversation with Admiral Pike.”

“What? No. Hell no. Fuck that, that’s not happening. I don’t need him to give me a lecture, or –”

“I doubt he would do such a thing. He is under the impression that you have left the city. He did not seem willing to lecture you for your actions.”

Jim bristled more.

“You have disappeared from his view once. It would not be difficult to do so again, should things not go as you anticipate. There is minimal risk to you and it would mean a great deal to him.”

“Would it?”

“It would.”

Hesitating, Jim finally scrubbed his face in defeat and let out a large groan. Spock wasn’t sure why he finally agreed for a photo of a star. Perhaps he would have agreed without the blackmail. Perhaps he, himself, was lonely. Spock could understand – Admiral Pike was a steadfast and trustworthy companion to have.

Spock retreated to his desk and wrote down his comm number, sending the message to Jim’s communicator. “I will set up an arrangement.”

Jim seemed to examine the number, before asking suspiciously, “Why are you doing this?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“Uh, given that this is all a little _sensitive?_ And most people hate my ass? Yeah.”

“Is it not enough that I am doing it? Pike was my commanding officer for many years. Starfleet values indicate that I should help where help is needed.” To explain the intricacies of _why_ entailed an emotional conversation that Spock was definitely not comfortable with having. Especially with a stranger.

“I guess.” Spock passed the picture over to Jim, who pocketed it immediately. “Hell. Don’t know what you’re getting out of it, but I don’t have anything else to lose. Dignity’s fucked through.” Jim through his bag over his shoulder, going to the door. “I guess I’ll be hearing from you, then? Whenever this … _thing_ goes down?”

“Of course, Jim. I wish you well.”

Spock heard Jim’s footfalls grow fainter and fainter down the hallway. When they finally became inaudible, Spock sat at his desk and considered what he had done. His father would likely disapprove, given that he was still associating with a man who had thrown away his talent on homicidal urges.

As for his mother, Spock had no doubt that she would approve. Encouragement of basic humanity notwithstanding, she had never disapproved of Spock making a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for bearing with me with the delay! I don't expect any other delays, and the next chapter should be posted this upcoming Sunday. Also, thank you to everyone who's read/kudos'ed/commented! It really brightens my day at my boring desk job to read them through, and I really do appreciate it. See you all Sunday!


	5. A Picture Called Petunia

Coming around to Bones’ place twice in one day was new. They lived close enough that it wasn’t strange, and frankly, it wasn’t even unusual to spend more than six hours at Bones’ place at any given time. Still.

He couldn’t help but think it was weird he’d only met Jocelyn maybe a dozen times, even if she did work like crazy. She was … also a doctor? A lawyer, maybe? Engineer?

“Where do you keep your pots?”

“Yeah, I’m not letting you help clean up dinner. I got it, and the autowasher will get the rest.”

“C’mon. If you’re gonna keep inviting me over, least I can do is help.”

Bones gave him a look and gestured towards the chair, which Jim took gracelessly. He flipped it around and sat on it backwards, staring at Bones.

“So,” Bones asked in a quiet voice. Jo was in the living room; Jim knew the curiosity was killing him. “You talk to your knight in shining armor?”

Jim wrinkled his nose at him. “Technically I saved him.”

“Yeah, yeah. What’d he say?”

“He said he hadn’t told anyone. And he wouldn’t tell anyone.” That was still shocking to him, though, like Bones said, Vulcans weren’t naturally inclined to gossip. He ran a hand over his head, his fingers sinking through his hair.

Bones hesitated for a second before pulling on elbow-length industrial gloves and going to the kitchen sink. There were utilities for that, Jim always laughed at him, but Bones seemed to like doing household chores. Jim didn’t press on why. Maybe he was fidgety.

“Yeah? How was it like,” Bones asked, scrubbing at dishes, “Being in the Academy again?”

Jim wasn’t sure how to answer that at first. Walking along the halls of the Academy … shit, it had been good, his time there. He was good at it. He made friends. Had sex with a _lot_ of people. He either inspired abject adoration or bitter jealousy from all parties, including Captain Pike. There were moments of high stress, but Jim remembered everything fondly.

Then there was the other set of memories – the court martial, the days of showing up and hearing evidence thrown at him, of having nothing but his word and the word of his crewmates to back him up. And God, they’d all been _so_ … Sulu, and Scotty, and Uhura, as much shit as they gave him, had been so _good_. The way Uhura had _slammed_ her first on the podium when people cross-examined her about his character –

“Pretty shitty,” he finalized, staring down at his cup of water. “They’ve still got that ugly, massive bust of Dad in one of the hallways.”

“Yeah, it’s, uh, kind of gaudy. Pretty sure one of the Intro Xenobio lecturers has a shrine of him in her classroom. Did anything else happen? You just go in, rough him up, and leave?”

“No, he, uh. He made a deal with me.”

“A deal?”

“He wanted me to talk to Admiral Pike. I, uh.” Flexing his fingers, Jim breathed out a long sigh. Bones threw the dishrag over his shoulder and turned around to face him as he slid off his gloves. “I used to be pretty close with the guy.”

“ _You_ were close with Admiral Pike? Well. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Both golden boys who believe in the idea of Starfleet, that every -- “

Jim snorted on his water. “Uh, yeah. Me, Bones, Golden Boy, you got it.” He wasn’t upset, not really, because … well, fuck, if he’d been an idealistic reckless bastard at his heyday. And it was nice to have a guy who didn’t think it’d all been a front, that he hadn’t gotten his medals out of vanity or selfishness. Bones believed in him. “I said yes, I’d meet up with him.”

Bones nearly fell off his chair. When he spoke, a little more of his southern drawl came out – it happened whenever he was shocked, or angry, or drunk. “How’d he get you to agree to that?”

Jim flashed a smirk. “You’ll see. Hey, Jo-Jo?”

Jo came into the kitchen with a crayon still clutched in hand. Jim had already promised Bones that he’d stay overnight to put her to bed; Bones had received a third shift rather unexpectedly. Maybe that was why he looked grumpy. Grumpier than usual.

“I promised I’d bring your drawing back, right? Showed _all_ of my friends and they said it was the best thing they’d ever seen.” Jo beamed in front of him, and Jim fished into his pocket again. “And I was talking to a teacher at the Academy and he said I could give this to you.”

Jim was pretty sure that he’d never felt closer to pure joy than he did when handing her the photo.

The picture _was_ pretty. It made Jim homesick for the stars. The planet was bright and red, looking almost like a polished marble. At eight different spots around it, though, giant swaths of glowing debris gave the appearance of leaping off of it before getting extinguished against the backdrop of space.

When Jo beamed at him, Jim noted that she was missing one of her bottom teeth. Someone had had a productive afternoon.

“Well, I’ll be damned, a planet with petals,” Bones grumbled, before summarily fishing out a quarter and placing it in the mostly-full swear jar.

“Thank you, Mr. Kirk!” Jo squealed. She half-climbed into Jim’s lap to squeeze him around his neck. “Have you been here? Has anyone been here? Can I go there? What’s it called?” The picture was gripped so tightly in her little hand that Jim worried it might tear.

“Ha! No, no, I haven’t been there, it’s only been found and I haven’t been in space in … “

Jim’s heart fell. It was a year. Not exactly, but close enough. The anniversary of the last time his ship had touched down, and he’d been led out in handcuffs like he was some crazed felon. He had a plan to celebrate, and it involved a lot of booze.

With all the intuition of a child, Jo caught onto Jim’s mood. Her lower lip stuck out in a pout, and Jim knew he had about fifteen seconds before she burst into tears. Across the table, he saw Bones lean forward and try to reach for her.

“Hey, you know what?” Jim promised a little faux-eagerly, taking Jo off his lap and putting her on the floor. “As soon as I go back there, I’ll visit it so I can tell you all about it. Its name is Mu Epsilon IV.”

Jo’s nose wrinkled in amusement. “That’s a silly name.”

“Yeah? What would you call it?”

“The _Petunia_ planet.”

“Petunias?” Bones asked quizzically, looking over the photo. “Sweetheart, that’s not what a petunia looks like _.”_

***

Several days later, Spock received his second uninvited visitor of the week. At this rate, Spock wondered if he was about to become some sort of social debutante. It would have irritated him, if it didn’t further and explain the strange situation he found himself in.

Since Jim’s visit to his office, he had attempted to pull up the remaining court files. His access had been denied. _His_ access, the credentials of a researcher, professor, and most importantly, Commander. Was the trial really considered to be _that_ confidential?

Still, he had tried to conduct research into the case without access to the court files, and was in fact pouring over legal opinion of the court martial when he saw someone walk in his door. Eyes unfocused, he looked up at the intruder. Perhaps a student, wanting to somehow fix their failing grade on their starship design. He was not in the mood to assist, though he would not shirk his duties.

No. Not a student.

This one worked in the medical bay, didn’t he? They had spoken before. There had been a conference concerning the medical safety risk of exploration-based Starfleet missions, and what new instruments could be installed in sickbays to better prepare. Dr. McCoy had been intelligent, if … abrasive.

“Commander Spock? My name’s Dr. McCoy.”

Spock blinked a few times to restore his eyesight. It had gotten a little hazy. He hadn’t realized how intensely he’d been staring at his PADD.

“I just came to – “ Bones cut himself on in a yawn, raising one hand towards Spock. “Sorry. Third shift. Anyway, I just wanted to come and thank you for the picture you gave Jim Kirk the other day.”

Spock stared at him in bewildered confusion, which, on a Vulcan’s face, probably looked rather nondescript.

“It was for my daughter. I’m Joanne’s dad.” 

“I see. So Mr. Kirk is your – “ Spock’s eyes fell on the wedding ring on the doctor’s hand to see a human wedding ring. What was this _disappointment_ he was feeling? That was ridiculous. Why did it matter to _him_ if Jim was bonded? He chalked it up to the turbulent emotions of the Vulcan species and his own incapability to maintain control of them.

“What? _No._ I did a lot better than that dickhead.” Bones looked visibly insulted, his fingers going to cover the ring on his hand. “No, Jim’s a kid that helps me with Jo.”

“He is your friend.”

Spock wondered why Bones hesitated, a flash of indecision crossing over his face, but he finally agreed. “Uh, yeah. He’s my friend. Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks – that, and for taking him home before. Saved me the trouble of being woken up in the middle of the night, again, and having to take care of him.”

“Do people call you every time Jim Kirk needs to be taken home?”

“Yeah. Well. He doesn’t really have anyone else and I _am_ a doctor, so people just figure.”

Doubtless the court martialing hadn’t done well for Jim’s social life. That was to be expected. Spock considered this, flipping idly through his PADD screens, before asking, “I presume he has told you the details of his discharge.”

“He didn’t need to tell me. I was working at the Academy clinic when it happened. That was the only thing people talked about. Still doing holo-specials on it, for God’s sake.” For a second, Bones looked significantly more tired and more old than his physical age would suggest. He collapsed in the chair on the other side of Spock’s desk. “Look, we haven’t talked about it and I’m not gonna speculate about shit that I don’t know.”

Spock’s curiosity was getting better of him. “In that case, what do you know?”

“That Vulcans try to go sniffing for shit, apparently.” Bones’ thankful mood had apparently dissipated with the questioning, and suddenly Spock found himself at the receiving end of a very strong glare. Had Bones been questioned about this before? “Jim’s a good guy, whatever he says. I’m sure you’ve seen it by now. I don’t know how the hell he found himself in that trouble, but I know – I’ve _seen_ \- it tears him up. Whatever happened on the _USS Republic_ –” As Bones cut himself off, Spock noticed the edge of the desk starting to cut into him with how intently he was leaning across it. Spock leaned back, forcing himself to maintain his composure. “Jim’s a good man. He wouldn’t have done anything, much less get a crewmember killed, out of _spite.”_

“Surely you don’t know him sufficiently well to make that assertion. The trial ended one year, two weeks, and four days ago.”

Another glare again. “Maybe he had a mental breakdown. Maybe this guy pissed on his dad’s grave. I don’t know, and I’m not gonna ask.”

Spock despaired. No additional information, really, beyond yet another person’s assertion that Jim wouldn’t do something like that. According to the records, every member of the bridge had also vouched for him. Either Jim was a masterful manipulator or … there was something more to be investigated.

Bones’ head was bowed as he looked down at the carpet. They shared silence, before he opened his mouth to speak again. “You’re gonna have him talk to Pike?”

“I presumed that would be helpful. Admiral Pike shares an emotional attachment to him.”

“Don’t know if that’s the best idea, but whatever, you’ve probably calculated 37 ways that that meeting can go.”

Spock wanted to suppress a laugh. 37? How peculiar. Though, of course, that hardly meant he _didn’t_ think about Jim meeting with Admiral Pike. He almost desired to attend, but it would be better for them to talk on their own. Spock was known to each of them individually, an outsider to them as a unit.

“But … okay. I didn’t come to tell you about that.“ Sighing, Bones pushed himself up from the chair to excuse himself to go. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m grateful he’s got someone else who gives a damn about him. He spent a lot of time trying to burn all his bridges.”

 _Did_ Spock give a damn about him?

It surprised him to think so, but then – well, yes, of course he did. He’d carted him home, he’d given him a gift, he’d organized a meeting with his superior. Somehow, and very suddenly, Jim Kirk had managed to get Spock to care about his well-being with seemingly no effort at all.

Spock would almost call it deceptive.

While he pondered of it, Spock heard his PADD ‘ _ping!’_.

“The number for my communicator, if something comes up with the meeting. Good talking to you, Commander.” Bones brushed the top of his uniform off, dipped his head in farewell to Spock, and exited his room.

Adding the number to his contacts, Spock stared across at the wall. He did not know what could come out of the meeting with Admiral Pike, but he intently looked forward to its outcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and for everyone who's left such lovely comments! The next chapter, the fateful Meeting With Pike, will be Sunday. :)


	6. Thus Spoke Uhura

As a certain Admiral checked his watch in Spock’s office, Jim sat face-down, barely-conscious drunk on the bar in the middle of the city. He only managed to remain on the barstool through a careful balancing maneuver and an urge to not make an even bigger idiot out of himself. _Am I drooling?_ Jim thought to himself, tilting his head just enough to stare at the bar surface. Something wet and clear reflected back at him. _Definitely drooling._

Logically, he knew he should’ve attended the meeting with Pike. He had planned it out with Spock – they were going to meet in Spock’s office and just … talk, Jim supposed. According to the Vulcan, Pike was overjoyed at the idea to see Jim again. For the first time in years.

The meeting was no longer happening.

He had just went in to have one or two drinks. Just to steady his nerves. Then he’d caught a glimpse of Uhura, in her Starfleet uniform. Clearly enjoying herself, with a group of other crewmembers. Jim had maintained his distance.

He figured she was on shore leave. Made sense. It would’ve been a weirder coincidence that they both ended up here, but Jim had dragged his entire bridge crew to this bar more than once on prior shore leaves. The bar reminded him of Earth, of home.

She looked good. Happy. Jim was glad that she was still doing what she loved.

Still, it was just enough of a push to drink himself into misery. Hopefully she didn’t recognize him, not with his facial hair and unkempt appearance. And the fact that he was trying to conceal himself by staying face-down on the bar.

The world spun around him as he shifted to rest his cheek on the bar. It was a retro bar – all wooden interiors, a pool table with a stained glass lamp over it, the general smell of despair and depression. A slice of Americana. They’d even got the stale-beer-and-cigarette smell right. Uhura hadn’t seen him, he didn’t think, and he’d last seen her at the trial. Would she even recognize him?

His communicator was going off in his pocket. Oh, yeah. He was missing something … important. Sleepily, Jim fished it out and tried to look at who it was. Too hard to tell. It had a ‘O’ in the name, possibly. Jim placed it on the bar surface, groaning loud. _God. Who the fuck wants me right now._ It didn’t even occur to him that he was supposed to meet with Pike more than three hours ago.

“Hey, buddy, you got someone to take you home?” The bartender asked, polishing a glass in front of him. Jim’s latest drink was only half-finished, and he pushed himself up just to feel the rest of it slide down his throat. It went down like molasses.

Jim knew the exact moment his life became a massive dumpster fire. That didn’t mean he could do a damn thing about it, unless he could miraculously invent time travel and stop … he didn’t even know what he could stop.

There was _video evidence of him giving the jettison order._ How could he fight against that?

“Fffft,” Jim responded unhelpfully, head going down on the counter again. The last drink had been a mistake. It seemed to catch and burn in his throat, and after it caught up with him, most of his attention was focused on not passing out.

_Breathe in, breathe out. They can take everything else away from you – but if you breathe in, breathe out, they can’t take that away from you._

There was the slide of metal across the table, and Jim dimly recognized it as his communicator. The bartender was taking it. Jim didn’t make a move to stop him.

Hell, he hadn’t been this drunk in a _while._ A week, at least. When had his doctor last taken care of him? Was that a week ago?

Still, right now, he wasn’t drunk to the point where he _wanted_ to call Bones. Bones had been so goddamn disappointed in him the last time he’d had to deal with Jim’s drunk antics, and after missing his meeting with Pike, he just couldn’t disappoint Bones again. Not right now.

“Call Sp’ck,” he tried to inform the bartender, instead, and he didn’t know why.

It wasn’t like he knew the Vulcan all that well. He seemed detached and aloof, more robot than sentient being, Still, the brief amount of kindness that he’d given him meant a lot. And he felt that he was less likely to judge for his current predicament. Or, at least, he’d keep the judgement internal.

And he was hot, and Jim didn’t think he was _too_ drunk not to appreciate being carried out of the bar by someone like that.

He seemed like he was a good guy, anyhow. If the court martial had taught him anything, it was that good guys were in short supply. He could count all of them on his fingers.

Pike, Scotty, Sulu, Spock, Bones, and then there was one more, there was ---

“Uhura,” Jim slurred to himself, pleased that he had remembered. Yes, she was another good guy. Girl. Woman. Professional.

“ _Yes,_ Jim, it’s me.”

 _Shit._ Where had she come from? Looking up from the bar, he saw Uhura’s face looking down at him in the dim light. When did she get so tall?

Jim had always sort of figured that Uhura had only tolerated him, but her true colors had come out during the trial. Uhura had argued for him as vehemently as any other member of the crew. She hadn’t been allowed to associate with him during it, but she had always tried to check up on him against orders to see how he was doing. Until her last assignment, and then there had been radio silence. Jim hadn’t blamed her. He was one hell of a security risk, now.

During that last fateful plea on the court, when it was clear that Jim was going down, Jim had done nothing but insist that nothing should happen to his bridge crew, that they were all innocent, hardworking, loyal people.

He hadn’t seen her since then. Hell, he hadn’t seen anyone, but not seeing Uhura had hurt just a little bit more.

Fear gripped him, and he wanted to try to flee. What was she going to think of him, then? The once Captain, now bar drunk. He couldn’t see her face, but he could imagine it well enough. Disgust, pity, sadness. He maneuvered himself, swaying on the table, to stare at her.

Wow, she was close _and_ beautiful. When they were at the Academy together, he had tried to make moves on her, but eh, honestly, she could’ve done better and she knew _t--_

“What the _hell_ is wrong with you? You’re about to pass out.”

“Astute observation, Lieutenant Uhura,” Jim said. Or rather, he _wanted_ to say that, but it came out more as an unintelligible series of slurred words and maybe a whimper at the end. He tried to get up to run away, maybe go pass out in a gutter, somewhere, but his legs weren’t working. He collapsed to the floor.

“Jesus, Jim, let me. “ Uhura’s arms were suddenly surrounding him, pulling him up and setting him back on the stool. “We need to get you to a clinic.”

“No. ‘s fine. Gon’ sleep it off.” As Jim leaned forward to rest on the bar counter again, he heard the scraping of the bar door. There was the clicking of boots getting closer, and Jim tried to shift his eyes to see the source. He couldn’t do that and remain on his stool, so he focused on balance instead.

“Uh, Commander Spock?” Uhura asked in sheer surprise. Jim felt her hand on his back. “Are you here for him?”

Spock was here.

Jim had _asked_ for him, specifically, and yet that didn’t help the burn running through his cheeks with shame. Spock wasn’t saying anything, and Jim wondered if he had was going to leave because _clearly_ Jim was a hopeless cause, and –

 _Fuck,_ he was pitying himself again.

“I wondered where you were,” Spock told him, as primly as if he were a student going in for consultation. “You were supposed to be meeting with Admiral Pike. He was concerned.”

Jim peered at him hazily, let out a ‘bleh’, and started to tilt from his stool like the goddamn Leaning Tower of Pisa. 

Spock caught him.

Spock was suddenly hugging him from behind, actually, with surprisingly little effort. Damn Vulcans. He moved him around like a ragdoll until his arm was around Spock’s shoulders, and Jim got a strong feeling of déjà vu. God, Spock was so _strong._

“His communicator is on the bar, Lieutenant Uhura.” Spock was professional, even as he had a half-drunk ex-captain on his shoulders. “Would you please call Dr. McCoy – likely ‘Bones’ – and inform him that we will need the clinic to be unlocked?”

At first, Jim was certain that he was going to say hospital, and Jim wanted to argue against it. He couldn’t be in a hospital. Some street journalist would find out and it would be a case of ‘Where is Jim Kirk Now?’. When Spock immediately went to Bones, though, Jim felt immeasurably grateful. And guilty, even in his haze.

Uhura went for the communicator and soon, she was murmuring quiet instructions into it. He couldn’t quite hear her, but he could hear Bones’ ‘God _damn_ it, Jim’ from within the receiver.

“Spock?” He mumbled, feeling sorry for himself and the man who was carrying him. “S’rry ‘bout Pike.” He moved his face to rub against the side of Spock’s shoulder, almost nuzzling into his uniform.

The last thing he was aware of was Spock’s breath catching in his throat before everything faded into unconsciousness.


	7. One Degree of Separation

“God _fucking_ piece of shit – “

Another hypospray and an actual IV were thrust into Jim with a little more roughness than what was actually necessary. Spock caught sight of the doctor’s face. The grimace hadn’t left him since Bones had arrived at the clinic and seen Spock cradling Jim like a child in his arms.

“Waking up in the middle of the god damn night bastard – “

A machine beeped in protest as Bones jabbed it close to Jim’s face, and, after grunting at the reading, Bones clipped a few more monitors onto him.

“Fucking waste of – “

“I think he’s gotten the point of it, doctor,” Admiral Pike remarked, sitting on the opposite side of the bed. He was leaning forward, knees spread. His eyes were focused right ahead in a dead man’s stare.

The mood in the room was somewhere between ‘ _funeral’_ and ‘ _principal’s office’._

Uhura stood by Spock in the corner while Dr. McCoy attended to the unconscious man. Spock had opted to stay in the corner, but Admiral Pike had insisted on being right by him. His teeth were clenched; Spock had seen that look before in a small evacuation pod. He was _furious_.

And devastated.

“Well, this explains,” Pike continued grimly, “Why he didn’t make the meeting. How long has this been happening?”

“Oh, I don’t know, you know,” Dr. McCoy grunted, adjusting one of the machines attached to him. “Once or twice a week since he’s gotten court martialed. Fucking _dickhead._ ” All of his movements were swift and severe.

“Jesus, Jim.” Uhura’s voice was so quiet beside Spock that he doubted anyone else could hear.

“And nobody’s thought to do anything? Get him _help?_ Get him to a rehab clinic, for pete’s sake?”

“Oh, yeah, that would’ve gone well. Hey, Jim, you wanna go to rehab? Maybe if you’re lucky, a paper’ll pick it up.” Bones stopped his ministrations for a moment to take a step forward to the Admiral. “If you care so much about how he’s doing, why didn’t you get into contact with him? Why wait until Spock over there set up an arrangement?”

Pike opened his mouth, but Spock knew from his face that no good could come of this conversation.

Spock stepped away from Uhura, towards the doctor. “Dr. McCoy, I don’t believe dialogue like this is helpful.”

Dr. McCoy’s head popped up to glare daggers into him, but Spock saw worry written deep into his features. He had strategically placed himself between Jim and the rest of the people in the room, excluding Pike. Protective.

Admiral Pike sighed, going to pinch his nose. “I didn’t think he’d … “

“What? Be like this? Sure, strip away a man’s medals and livelihood and reason for living and I’m sure he’ll be _fine.”_

Spock maintained his point that this wasn’t helping things, but he couldn’t help but concede Dr. McCoy’s point. Any rational person would see that Jim would be devastated and in need of support.

“What was I supposed to _do?_ Jim got a man killed. He’s lucky he didn’t wind up in jail for ten years. I could’ve gotten him a planetside job if he’d just pled guilty. As it was, I made a few calls, pulled a few strings, made sure that he didn’t get thrown in a hole somewhere – “

Well. That was one question answered. Spock hadn’t even noticed Pike pulling strings for him, given that he had been aboard the _Theseus_ at the time of the trial.

Uhura broke in, furious. “Cut the bullshit. You brushed it under the rug, Admiral. You didn’t even entertain the possibility that Jim was innocent. You were pulling strings _while the trial was going on._ ” She stepped forward, away from Spock, to focus on the Admiral. “He trusted you. He thought you’d be the _one_ person to believe him.”

“Not only was I on a starship quadrants away, we had video evidence of wrongdoing from the shipboard computer. I couldn’t argue that.”

Ah, yes. The physical evidence showing undeniable proof that Jim had perpetrated that crime. Spock had considered it the most damning piece of evidence shown during the entire trial.

“Jim argued it.”

“Jim had nothing but our word.”

“And the word of everyone who’s ever worked with him.”

“The point stands that _someone_ needed to be – “

“So you took away one of the best Captains in the Federation?” Uhura hissed, and Spock couldn’t help but think that Jim would enjoy the stroking of his ego. Still, he had more questions than answers. “The crew was crushed when Jim was found guilty. Every one of us.”

“If I had a single piece of evidence that could’ve exonerated him, I’d have used it, Lieutenant.” Admiral Pike seemed resigned. “And there’s nothing to be done about it now.”

Uhura’s eyes fell to Jim, then to Pike, and angrily went silent.

“What were the specifics of this court martial?” Spock eventually asked. “I would be in a better capacity to help if I was aware of what happened, and the court files were sealed.”

“Nothing to be done about it, now.” Pike repeated, turning towards the bed.

“Jim was thrown under the bus by the Federation, and that fucking _lawyer_ didn’t even give him a chance.” Uhura’s opinion was scathing. Spock remembered her being exactly the same when they were enrolled in the Academy together. Uhura was quick to call out injustice; a trait he had always personally admired. Admiral Pike sighed, exhausted. “The files were locked away, weren’t they, Admiral?”

“Yeah. Too many attempts to break into them.” Pike, exhausted, looked up at Spock. “What’ll it do for you, Spock, if I give you the files?”

“Currently, I am attempting to support Jim Kirk. I do not know the specifics of the trial, beyond that which was made public. That is an illogical method.”

“And what are you getting out of all this, exactly?”

Spock blinked a little in surprise. There was that question again, worded a little differently. His eyes fell to Jim laying in the bed. He was sweating, and pale, and occasionally squirmed as if he were in pain. It seemed pathetic – indeed, most of his interactions with Jim up to that point had been the man being pathetic.

Part of Spock felt hurt. Was it because he was Vulcan, that people assumed he would do nothing simply to help another person that did not share his species? Did people assume he would be too logical to want to help? That caring, providing, supporting was _illogical?_

Even if that were true …

Spock was fascinated and … in _far_ too deep to back away now.

If anything, it was the most exciting thing that had happened to him in months. His life in between _Theseus_ and now had been routine, exact, calculating. Not that he craved excitement – what a strange, human concept – but he had to admit that his time with Jim had been striking his curiosity. And, for once, the idea of excitement did not fill him with stressed anxiety.

Perhaps if he rephrased this as a scholarly, logical endeavor, as an answer to many questions, his attachment to Jim would not feel _so_ messily human.

And despite Jim being slightly dickish, as a colloquialism, Spock _was_ attached to him already.

“Nothing,” Spock responded honestly. “But one of the duties of Starfleet personnel is to offer help.”

Pike gave him a raised, suspicious look, which Spock returned smoothly. Finally, Uhura broke in.

“Just give him the damn files, sir, if he’s asking for them. You’ve worked with him. You really think Spock’s got some big evil plan to hurt him?”

Not exactly a _ringing_ endorsement from someone he had only briefly worked with during the Academy, but Pike relented. She seemed aware of the gravity of the situation. Spock wondered how Pike knew her. Had he _also_ known her during the Academy? Had everyone only been one connection away from knowing each other?

How odd.

Pike regarded the Lieutenant, and then looked down on Jim’s slack face.

“You shouldn’t give it to him.” It was the doctor. All parties turned to regard the man curiously as he adjusted the IV in Jim’s arm. “Seems like I’m the only man in the room who actually knows Jim, and he hasn’t told me two words about it. The last thing he wants is for everyone, especially you, to know. No offense.” He wasn’t looking at any of them as he spoke, but there was something hard around his eyes. Bones had fought this battle before. “I don’t know what the hell Jim needs, but it’s damn well not people poking around that martial. Just admit that you’re being a nosy bastard.”

Spock considered that for a second. _Was_ he simply being nosy? Vulcans were instinctually curious.

Though, when he recalled the empty spot on his office wall, when Jim had genuinely been excited to give that picture to a small child … there was certain qualities in Jim Kirk that Spock did not frequently see. And, of course, there was his record of his heroism.

He wanted him to improve. To recover. To grieve, and to ascend.

“If I am continuing my association with Jim Kirk,” Spock reflected, “It may be helpful to know, to assist his recovery.”

“What, are you a good Samaritan now?”

Spock didn’t quite understand the reference, but he understood the implication and he resented it. His eyes narrowed at the doctor, Spock asked, “You are accusing me of wanting to help with no ulterior motive as if it is a _negative_ quality?”

“You’ve known him for _days._ You can’t claim that you’re his friend. That you’d know what he would want.”

Spock could not fault his logic. He had only had a few conversations with the man. Pausing, he looked back at the doctor and thought for a long moment.

The room was silent other than the occasional beep of the medical equipment in front of him, before Spock realized there was only one logical decision. Any other courses of action would doubtless lead to Jim becoming angry and drunk once more, and Spock could not abide that.

“I will wait until he wakes and obtain permission.”

“Really? Good luck, princess.”

“You sure about that, Commander?” Pike asked, tilting his head to the side. “I doubt Jim would give it up.”

“If he does not wish for me to know, then I will not know.”

Uhura’s mouth twitched next to him. Was that, Spock wondered, amusement? Or respect? “I don’t know what’ll help Jim, but I don’t think pissing him off more is the move on this. I agree.”

It was disappointing, to know that learning about the court martial was still so far out of his grasp, but Spock could not in good conscience go against Jim’s wishes on it. He already thought of Jim with affection in his mind.

“When will he wake, Dr. McCoy?”

“Give him a few hours until he sleeps this off. Rest of you can go home, if you want. I’m gonna stick around to keep an eye on him.”

“As will I.” Spock was firm on that. He wanted to be there when Jim woke.

“Oh, just you and me? Good. Just a word of warning, I don’t fuck on the first date, Ears.”

Although Spock had initially been fond of Bones when he had visited his office, he now suspected that he did not like the doctor’s personality much. Bones did not trust him. Spock understood that. He remained silent, glancing instead to the Captain and Lieutenant.

“Spock,” Uhura mentioned, typing her number into Spock’s PADD, “Keep me updated on him, won’t you? My shore leave’s up soon, so I won’t be able to come.”

“Yeah. Likewise, Mr. Spock. Let me know when he’s up so he and I can chat.”

After reassuring him that he would indeed keep them updated, both the Admiral and the Lieutenant left. By that time, it was late enough that even Spock felt tired. He could not imagine how the doctor felt, but he seemed industrious as ever.

“Just you and me, hobgoblin,” Bones eventually grumbled, going to collapse in a chair next to the bed. Jim snored on between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically, Pike and Jim did reunite, even if only one was conscious for it. ;)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's read, left kudos, or left a comment, it's highly appreciated. I released two chapters instead of one this week -- individually, they were both a bit short so I grouped them together. Next Sunday will also be a double feature, more for narrative purposes instead of constructive ones, but then it's back to one chapter a week! If you have any thoughts/how the fic made you feel, let me know with a comment!


	8. The Morning After The Morning After

Jim’s head felt heavy when he woke up. He was sweating. When he moved his limbs, he was, in that moment, certain that someone had tied weights to them – nope, he was just _that_ weak and hungover. Awesome.

Looking to the side, he saw Bones sleeping on the scratchy clinic chair next to him. His head was pitched back, mouth open. Snoring. Fuck, Jim figured, he’d need to apologize to him, again. If only he could remember what he needed to apologize _for,_ because the memory department was slacking. He racked his brain. Nothing came.

What did come to him, though, was the meeting he was supposed to have with Pike. He instinctively flinched.

_Fucked up again. That’s a familiar tune._

He wondered what Spock thought of him missing the meeting. If Spock had just figured that Jim ghosted him … that would be preferable to the truth. Jim usually didn’t feel shame when these type of things happened (so long as nobody saw), but Spock finding out would be mortifying.

“There is water at your bedside table, Jim.”

_Fuck._

His eyes shot over to Spock, bulging, and he tried to speak, but found that his throat was too dry to speak. He reached for the water instead and kept a watchful eye on the man.

Why was Spock here? Had Spock been the one to get him to the clinic? He’d rescued him from a drunken bender _twice?_ The guy really didn’t know how to cut his losses. Jim blinked at him in surprise. Spock had helped his stupid, drunken ass _twice._

“You were very intoxicated and had someone call for aid,” Spock explained, “You requested for me.”

“And you … came?”

Spock had helped him _twice?_

“Why would I not?”

Jim felt very, very small against the bed. Every smartass answer disappeared from his brain, leaving nothing but honesty. “Oh. Uh, thank you, I didn’t – shit. Sorry.”

“It is fine.”

“It really isn’t.”

“You are correct. I’ve found ‘fine’ to be a remarkably human term, as it is. In terms of your health and continued social relations, no, it is not fine.” Spock’s fingers interlaced as he looked down at them. “Admiral Pike and Lieutenant Uhura were present, earlier.”

Great, it had been a fucking party in the hospital room.

 _Uhura._ Jim remembered seeing her, remembered how it burned to see her, remembered how it felt so _good_ to see her still in uniform, to see her moving on without him.

And Pike was a different matter altogether. Jim collapsed in his bed, looking up at the ceiling. Fuck. He didn’t even recall seeing him.

“Thanks,” Jim mumbled, a dark blush spreading across his face in shame. “Again.”

“I wish to help you.”

_What?_

_“_ Uh, how?”

“I wish to view the records of your court martial. Admiral Pike has informed me that he has maintained a copy. If I am to better understand what you are going through, I deem it appropriate to analyze it.”

This wasn’t something he wanted to deal with, so soon after waking up. The initial, stomach-churning response was _no_ and _fuck Pike_ for even keeping a copy. Having someone watch it? That would be too cruel -- fuck it, it would be too embarrassing. He hadn’t even brought it up with Bones, not that Bones had asked (though, if he did, Jim felt like his hands would be tied in giving it to him).

Then again …

Spock had helped him twice.

He hadn’t mocked him, or pitied him, or tried to drag him off against his will. He had helped him, and now he wanted to help even more.

Were Vulcans really known for their acts of charity? Jim didn’t really know a lot about them, besides them being sort of pretentious assholes at diplomatic events but damn good negotiators.

If Spock had an ulterior motive, he sure as hell was playing the long con.

“How’s any of that going to help, Spock?” Jim mumbled under his breath, defeated. “What are you going to do knowing it?”

“I cannot be certain, but it will provide me more information than what was released publicly. It may allow me to assist you and self-regulate any behavior that may unnecessarily trigger you.”

That was probably true. Spock had already seen him half-drunk to death. There really wasn’t a further place to go down. Rock bottom was a comfy chair, at this point. Jim paused for a second, and then his eyes flicked over to Bones, asleep in the chair.

God bless Bones. Bones was always fine to just not know.

“Uh. Yeah, fine. But, uh, if Bones wants to watch it, too, you gotta share.” Jim cleared his throat. “He’s gotten me through a lot of shit, too.”

How bad could it be? Spock was going to watch it, and then he was going to run away in sheer disgust. That would make the entire situation easier to deal with, and then Jim could resume his spiral. Bones wasn’t going to want to watch it; he’d made it clear before that he’d never want to.

Blinking at him once, twice, Spock eventually dipped his head in a nod. “Thank you.”

If Jim had to pinpoint a particular moment where he felt the _actual_ warm fuzzies for Spock, that was it. After Spock had shining-armored his ass into a clinic, had probably waited for him to wake up for God knew how long, and was thanking him with such a shy face that Jim felt something flip in his chest. _Yeah, fuck it, let’s make the situation more complicated by adding fucking feelings into the mix._

He had fucked plenty of people since getting back. At no point did he ever want to keep them around for more than a night. That wasn’t necessarily unusual; sort of his MO other than one or two girlfriends here or there during the Academy (which made him think of Lieutenant Shaw, which made him think of the goddamn trial again, which made him miserable, which made him want to stop).

But now, Jim not only wanted to fuck him, but he also wanted to just … stay right where he was, in front of him.

Fuck.

He was sunk. At least, he told himself half-miserably, there was no way Spock was going to stay after watching the court martial proceeding – and then he could get on with it. His life.

Jim was not normally shy in relationships, or telling people how he felt, but nuh-uh, _no way_ was this going to end well. So he just kept his fat mouth shut and enjoyed the feelings while they lasted. For the next twenty minutes or so until Spock saw him get convicted of murder.

Sure, he’d keep his mouth shut _now._ But … what the hell. If Spock came back, he’d ask him out, Jim finally decided on a whim. He just wasn’t going to come back. This was the last he was going to see of him. Easy odds.

“Are you well?” Spock prompted him. “Your eyes appear glazed.”

“That’s what happens when you don’t have anything in your brain,” Jim joked back with a smile, snapping back to focus. Jim half expected him to get up and run for the holotape immediately. “I’m okay. I’m a little tired, that’s all. You know –” He adjusted himself on the bed, pushing himself up. “I think I’ll be okay without a doctor at my bedside. I’m gonna wake Bones up and tell him to go home to his actual family, if you wanna … y’know.”

Spock hesitated. “Are you certain?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know it’s eating at you to watch it.” At least, as much as Vulcans looked _antsy._ “I’ll be fine. Go on, you crazy kid, Bones’ll just want to check my vitals as soon as I wake him up anyway.”

He waved Spock off, who unwillingly stood. With one last look ( _damn it,_ why did it look like he was smoldering at him, Jesus _God),_ Spock exited his room.


	9. When It All Went Wrong

A bell indicated the start of the court martial.

Due partially to Starfleet protocol and personal choice, Jim Kirk was wearing his full formal uniform entirely covered with various medals and awards as he came in. This was a special occasion, indeed, one where Jim needed to look as good as humanly possible.

Although Spock had never been there, this was the courtroom of Starbase 11.

The crowds all turned to look at the Captain as he walked between the aisles, his lawyer in step with him. The holotape displayed the lawyer’s name as Samuel T. Cogley, a middle-aged, bookish looking man.

The quality of the holotape was exceptional. Spock recognized Lieutenant Uhura, whose eyes never wavered from Jim’s figure. Beside her, a man from engineering and a helmsman watched with solemnity. The engineer took off his hat as Jim walked by. After Spock questioned it, the computer returned those individuals as Lieutenant Sulu and Engineer Scott.

Even approximately a year after and a screen away, Spock could see that everyone was tense in the courtroom. There wasn’t any mindless chatter in the public, but rather, a communal baited breath. A tight frown was etched into Jim’s face as he walked through the aisle. Media reporters lined the rows; Spock could understand why. This was the first starship Captain to ever stand trial.

And, apparently, the first to ever be convicted.

Jim sat down next to his lawyer, who quickly whispered a few words to him. Stone-faced, Jim nodded and turned to face the judgement council. Again, the holotape supplied the names: Commodore Stone, Space Command Representative Lindstrom, Starship Captain Krasnovsky, Chondra. Spock recognized none of them but the first, a rather distinguished human gentleman who regarded the courtroom with a cool, detached demeanor.

“The Court Martial for James Tiberius Kirk, Captain of the USS Republic, and the circumstances surrounding the suspected murder of Lieutenant Commander Benjamin Finney.”

Spock’s eyes flickered up towards Jim’s face. Impassive, strong. There was a certain dignity, formality about the Captain that Spock didn’t see in the current Jim.

The opening statements came and went. The courtroom was filled with majority human individuals, with the occasional Andorian antenna or black eyes of a Betazoid. Spock caught sight of a few holocameras within the chamber. Multiple people were reporting on this, clearly. If it had been any junior officer, the entire ordeal may have been reported on towards the end of the news … but the son of the famous George Kirk warranted more intention, indeed. Willful homicide only made the trial more enticing for the media. That this was the _first_ Captain to stand trial was almost the story of the century.

The courtroom attendants held rapt attention, and the reporters were scribbling notes or making figures on their PADDs already. It was strange to think that, a quadrant away, Spock had only heard of it in passing on the _Theseus._ In fact, Pike had mentioned it to him, but Spock hadn’t pressed him on the matter. He had had his duties to complete. At the time, ignoring the trial had seemed perfectly logical.

What did it matter to him, if this human had committed the murder? Humans murdered constantly. It was one of their favorite hobbies, if the history books were any lesson.

Spock constantly scribbled notes on his PADD as he watched. The prosecution seemed to gather herself as the defense stood up to introduce their client. In the opening statement, Spock noted that there was a certain familiarity between Jim and the human prosecuting attorney, a Lieutenant Shaw, but he did not explore it further.

“Captain James Kirk,” Cogley started, “Recipient of the Grankite Order of Tactics, the Karagite Order of Heroism, the Palm Leaf of Axanar Peace Mission, the Preantares Ribbon of Commendation, the Starfleet Award of Valor, the Starfleet Award of Conspicuous Gallantry, and three-time recipient of the Starfleet Award of Honor, as well as two dozen awards across multiple galaxies for specific acts of heroism and self-sacrifice during his time as Starfleet Captain of the USS Republic. And,” And, Cogley added with a sickly sweet smile to Shaw, “Top of his class at Starfleet.”

Spock raised one eyebrow. An impressive set of awards, indeed. That explained the decorations riddling his chest. On the holotape, Jim’s mouth quirked to the side. Shaw frowned.

“His records speak for themselves. I have several examples of the type of man that James Kirk is – “ A holoview suddenly appeared in front of the courtroom, facing the jury. Several quick clips showed by in quick succession – Jim sitting at the captain seat, Jim on an alien planet with a phaser, Jim with a small alien child in his arms. “To suggest that he would murder a man in cold blood is nothing short of absurd. There is simply nothing in his behavior to indicate that he would even consider acting out of malice _or_ panic.”

Jim had resorted to looking straight ahead, his eyes trained on his crew in the audience. Spock noticed that the entire crew was sitting together, clumped in vibrant Starfleet uniforms.

“Jim, can you tell us about your relationship with Lieutenant Commander Benjamin Finney?”

His eyes snapping to his lawyer, Jim nodded and continued.

“We met during the Academy, in the first couple of weeks of class. We were both from Earth, from a rural part of America, and we both wanted to be Starfleet captains someday. He was a professor there, a little older than me, but we hit it off. He, uh,” Jim added, somewhat sheepishly, “He named his daughter Jamie. After me.”

Jim smiled as he said that, and there was a noticeable softening in the audience, though Spock couldn’t say why. In the audience, the yellow-shirted helmsman’s hand tightened on his chair.

“When I took command of the USS Republic, I wanted him as first officer. He was happy to take the position, and I knew I could bet my life on him.”

“So you had no ill-will against him? No feelings of distaste, dislike, jealousy?”

“None,” Jim replied curtly. “None at all. He was my best friend.”

Shaw stood, facing Jim Kirk. There was something cold about her face – given the enormity of this position, Spock understood why. Still. Her professional smile reminded him dimly of a shark. Or a gorn.

“I think you had plenty of reason to dislike him, Captain Kirk,” she demanded, placing one finger on her desk. “A fear of retribution? Doubt of his ability? A personal vendetta?”

“No. I had a strong respect for him. He was a good officer.”

“Then explain the incident on the USS _Dante_.”

Anxiety flowed through Cogley, Spock could see him fidget with the watch on the table. Jim looked as if he was holding his breath for a second before answering, though he did not seem unprepared to answer the question.

“Sure. Finney and I were crewmembers on there. He gets off shift, and I take his position. And I noticed that he’d left one of the GNDN circuit to the atomic matter piles open. Well, that could’ve, that – “ Pausing, Jim took a sip of his water. “That could’ve destroyed the entire ship if left until morning. It would have destroyed it – drained power until life support went out. I don’t know why he opened it in the first place. So I reported it to the captain. I got commended, he got placed at the bottom of the promotion list.”

“And that angered him,” the prosecution pressed.

“It did. We didn’t speak for several years, until I got command of the _Republic_.”

“And he had been promoted since then?”

“He had. He was a Commander, and I – we – both hoped he’d be promoted to Captain by the end of the mission.”

Spock was not convinced. Had Jim been convicted on _this?_ A petty rivalry that proved nothing, meant nothing? Jim seemed to explain the situation with maturity. And, Spock noted, he had still wanted the man as first officer, even if they had not spoken for years.

“I would like to present to the court,” the prosecution continued, turning to face the jury-box, “Proof that Captain Kirk is exaggerating his friendship with the victim. Audio recordings, sent from Commander Finney to his wife on Earth.”

Several PADDS were placed onto the table, and Jim leaned forward curiously to inspect them. There was no worry in his gaze, but he clearly hadn’t been expecting this.

“These have been edited for the decency of the court.”

Ah. Spock had an inkling that these wouldn’t be good.

“The _beep_ -ing Federation sure has gone downhill. Making a man like Jim _Captain?_ I’m surprised he can get his shoes on some days, much less order a crew around. I’m twice the offer he is. He’s acting like we’re all _beep-_ ing cowboys, like we’re in the _beep_ -ing Wild West from centuries ago. Starfleet used to have dignity, Martha, it used to have – _beep!_ And now we’ve got _beep_ -ing _beep_ -holes like Captain Kirk running around with their pants up their beeps like he’s king of the god- _beep_ galaxy.”

One PADD was dismissed to the side and play on the second was pressed.

“Martha, I don’t want Jim’s name thrown anywhere near her. _Beep_ still thinks we’re best _beep_ -ing buddies. Still invites me around for drinks. And I gotta join him, because he’s the _beep-_ ing Captain and the only chance I’ve got getting out of this _beep_ -hole and being a proper Captain. Why the _beep_ would I even like the guy after that stunt he pulled on me? I’m a _bee_ ping Commander and I’m three years older than that _beep_ -hole.”

The PADD cut to a stop, and the prosecution was about to press on the third, but Jim cleared his throat. Spock was surprised by how pale he seemed. When he tried to speak, Commodore Stone interrupted him as he spoke directly to Shaw.

“I … think we have enough, counsel.”

“Would you like to change your opinion on the relationship between you and Finney, Captain?”

Jim paused a second. In the audience, the crew had a range of emotions – the engineering man and Uhura looked like they were about to break someone’s neck, but the helmsman’s hands were firmly on the chair in front of him, looking straight at Kirk with determination.

“I would not. I can’t speak for Finney’s side of it, but I consider – “ He trailed off. “Considered him one of my closest friends. I would have died for him.”

“Excuse us if we cannot believe you on that front, Captain. If he hated you with such vitriol, surely it should have been obvious, even _returned_ – unless, that is, you’re completely incapable of recognizing the emotions of your own crew. Of course, the alternate solution is that the pressure of captaincy was too much and you made a negligent mistake. You are, after all, the youngest Captain in the Federation. Perhaps Starfleet just put too much faith in your abilities.”

Jim remained silent. The defense stood up and announced an objection on the grounds of slandering the defendant, and the court trial moved on.

“Explain to us, then, how exactly the incident happened. In your own words.”

It was clear that Jim had a prepared statement – he had retrieved it from his jacket pocket, folded-up. Instead of unfolding it, however, he tapped it against the podium like a packet of cigarettes.

“We were heading through an ion storm. Everyone here knows how dangerous those are. We just smacked right into it before we could even get the sensors to register.” His words were grim, the tone of a man who had had to send messages to one-too-many planetbound families.

“It was … tough, and sudden. I mean … god. One second, I was playing chess on the bridge because there wasn’t so much as an errant asteroid in this part of the galaxy.” At the mention of him playing chess on the bridge, the prosecution started to scribble that down rapidly. Spock raised an eyebrow. It was technically against regulation, certainly, but he had not known a Captain who didn’t engage in it on the bridge when times were slow. The majority of space was empty, after all. Captain Pike was fond of checkers on the bridge, and often nagged Spock to be his other partner. Spock did not play “games” on the bridge, even if it was quiet.

“And the next, our shields were being pummeled from all angles. We were going to go down, fast, if nothing was done. Before we got into the storm, we had Finney in the ion pods doing some repairs. I went to yellow alert, and told Finney to get the hell out of there – “ The judge raised one finger at the profanity. Jim winced. The prosecution raised their hand to ask a question, and Jim answered it quickly: “Because if we went to red alert immediately, the ion pod would have to be jettisoned. I ordered the evacuation order for Finney over the comms, waited, and then we went to red alert. I gave him as much time as regulation states, and then a few seconds more.”

It was as if Jim had gone over it in his head a thousand times.

“After we got through the worst of it, we asked Finney to report in. He didn’t. I ordered a phase 1 search of the _Republic,_ and he didn’t turn up. There was nowhere for him to be except the ion pod. No escape pods used. No shuttles gone.”

“And you followed protocol exactly, Captain?” The defense stood, half-turning towards the jury.

“Protocol mandates that you order evacuation before you go to red alert. _Yes,”_ Jim remarked through gritted teeth. “I followed protocol. The Phase 1 search after was also protocol; every single Jefferies’ tube has to be explored in that instance. And even if I did have it out for Finney, I wouldn’t get him like that. It’s a painful way to go.”

“Or,” The prosecution jumped in, “A particularly cruel act of vengeance.”

The jury murmured among themselves. If he were trapped in the ion pod, life support would hold for a few seconds as he was jettisoned out. It would give out, and perhaps the Commander could try to take a few breaths before he felt his lungs explode in the vacuum.

A painful way to go, certainly.

Spock found himself entranced by the holotape, seeing the full story. He continued to write down notes as the trial went on, occasionally moving through the simple bureaucracy.

The physical evidence was displayed, and it was irrefutable. A video, of Jim’s hand hovering over the control panel, ordering yellow alert at first. Then, as lights sounded around him and he received barking reports from every direction, Jim jettisoned the ion pods before going to red alert.

Particularly damning, and Jim’s face displayed the utter shock at the holotape. The phrase _the tape is wrong_ was mouthed to his attorney. Although there was still the rest of the trial to watch and listen to, Spock found himself watching Jim almost solely during the course of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another double feature! I included this the same week, because it mostly exists almost entirely as a flashback of sorts (even if it's a holotape). A few more details were picked up from the TOS episode "Court Martial", particularly names and relationships. I also included a paraphrase from one of my favorite lines of the episode, given by Spock, where he states that it is impossible for Kirk to act out of panic or malice. I really like the episode in general, but I think that line really exemplifies what Ideal Kirk should be.
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and especially thanks to those who left comments or kudos! If you have any thoughts/reactions, you can leave a comment. I'll see you all next week!


	10. I'm Still Here

When Spock returned to Jim’s room in the clinic, he was moderately surprised to find Jim still resting in his bed. Jim had flighty tendencies. It had been a few hours, although Spock had watched the rest of the proceedings at twice the speed and skipped entirely through the logistical matters.

Just ten minutes ago, he had heard the court designate Jim as guilty. Jim, in the tape, had leaned forward, his head in his hands, and went quiet. Cogley had grimly accepted it, though Spock did not think he looked surprised.

To see Jim, in the bed, smile at him was somewhat comforting, even if he clearly looked exhausted. Still, Jim was surprised to see him and gestured him over to sit.

“Hey. Didn’t expect you’d be back after seeing that shitshow,” Jim remarked, sitting up on the bed. Light had begun to shine through the windows, dust motes swirling in the air. It was just after sunrise. The clinic was officially open; Spock had passed several sleepy students on the way back in. Noise started to filter in, cutting in from the dead, oppressive silence of the previous night. “How was it, seeing me in full color being branded a psycho killer by my ex-girlfriend?”

All of the machines had been removed; Bones was absent from the room. Clearly, he had not wanted to watch the tape. From the rumpled blankets, it looked as if Jim had been resting somewhat before his departure. Or, Spock wondered, if Jim had been waiting for him.

Spock could only answer truthfully. It had only taken him the walk from his office back to the Starfleet medical clinic to reach his conclusion.

“The prosecution’s arguments were highly illogical. There were several inconsistencies in their arguments and they had no rebuttal against the character witnesses. When they tried to insinuate you must have hated Commander Finney because he held negative feelings for you, or tried to insinuate you were an unsatisfactory Captain because of an occasional match of chess on the bridge, Commodore Stone should have intervened.”

“Didn’t matter. Dragging all them up, it didn’t matter.” Jim had turned his eyes to the ceiling, clearly unwilling to look at Spock. “Once they showed the holotape of me going jettisoning the ion pods before going into red alert, it was over.”

Yes, the holotape had been particularly damning. Spock had been inwardly floored by it, and it had been difficult to argue against it. The defense had flailed and weakly stated that there was still no motive, still no _reason_ for it, but they had been unprepared.

That had been the climax of the trial. Afterwards, the guilty verdict only seemed logical.

Still.

Spock was willing to dig.

“Have you asked them to further investigate the inconsistencies? Although it is difficult to argue against the holotape, perhaps – “

“No.” Jim cut him off. He stuck one finger towards Spock. “And you’re not investigating anything else.”

Spock was silent.

“It’s over and I’m just trying to …” Jim trailed off, and for a second, Spock wondered if he was going to cry. There was something fragile about his face. “I’m just trying to move on, you know? Even if there are things that don’t make sense, I don’t want to poke at it anymore. Just please, _please_ don’t poke at it for me.”

“That is understandable. I will cease ‘poking’.” Spock would respect his wishes, even if he had a thousand questions concerning the event still. But Jim was tired, and Spock now knew how quickly he had been convicted – there was considerable evidence against him.

Still, there had been something else that had affected Spock. Yes, it had been one thing to see Jim described as an ideal Captain in news and files, it was another to hear his awards, listed. To hear his crewmembers praise him to the highest degree. To see people crying in the audience when the verdict was read.

“Jim, I realize … the outcome of the trial. While it was beneficial to know the evidence against you, I had a much more relevant realization during the holovids.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“You are exceptional. You exhibited multiple acts of heroism and altruism. Prior to the trial, I would have felt comfortable stating that you were the embodiment of the values of Starfleet.”

Jim looked at him in surprise, and then flashed a nervous smile. It was accompanied by a nervous laugh that Jim quickly tried to cover with his hand. “I don’t know if I believe you, but … thanks. That, uh … huh. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“I do not want to make a claim as to your innocence or guilt. That was already decided.”

“No. No no, yeah, I know. Hard to watch that trial and _not_ think I did it.” Jim took a deep breath, the smile fading from his face. There were tears in the corners of his eyes. “But you really think I’m a good guy, huh?”

“You were. Whether you are remains to be seen.”

Another shaky laugh. A defense mechanism, Spock was certain, and as such, he was unsurprised when Jim moved on. “So, uh. As I was – y’know, waiting here for you, I told myself … you know, if he comes back, I’ll ask him out. He’s ridiculously handsome, and he’s saved my ass a few times now, and he’s clearly delusional enough to stick around. I didn’t think you were going to come back, so it was an easy bet to make with myself. But, uh. Now I guess I have to eat my words, huh?”

_Oh._

A romantic outing.

Spock had not even considered such a thing during his time on Earth. After his betrothal to T’Pring had been broken once he enrolled in Starfleet, he had resigned himself to being without a mate. Pon Farr was another issue that he would overcome when he had to, but nobody could predict when it would occur for him.

But … a human date? Spock blinked in surprise, and for a second, his mind returned immediate and eager agreement. Spock was unsurprised that it was the same part of his mind that kept insisting on Jim’s beauty. _Yes,_ the human part of him persuaded, Jim was handsome, and Jim was in Starfleet, and Jim’s company was enticing, and yes, a date was good.

 _No,_ the Vulcan part of him shot back, _he clearly murdered his first officer, given the physical evidence. You cannot court a murderer._

Spock realized he had been silent for some time, absorbing it, before Jim’s nervous chatter broke through.

“You know, forget about it, it’s a bad idea. Besides, it’s not like I’m exactly in the right mental state to be seeing anyone, and I don’t – shit, I don’t think Vulcans even date, do they? Sorry, I must still be out of it.”

“I have a starship recertification.” Spock stated abruptly. There. That was a way to end the conversation without formally giving an answer.

“What?”

“I have a starship recertification to prepare for. That is why I cannot.”

“Oh.” Jim seemed to fidget. “I didn’t know you were going for that. You want to go back on a starship?”

“No.”

There was confused, awkward silence between them. Spock was not sweating (Vulcans did not normally do so under tense circumstances), but he did note that Jim was. Spock felt keenly that this was not how conversations were supposed to go, certainly not conversations of a romantic nature.

“Oh … kay. Maybe – so, are you saying, maybe after we can – we can go and do something? Maybe?”

That could, at least, help him sort out his decision logically. Except that, logically, he already knew what his decision should be – he should reject Jim. The overwhelming doubt Spock felt at such a decision, though, had to be considered.

Spock worried that he was considering this because he was becoming too human.

It would be decided later.

“Perhaps,” Spock echoed to him solemnly, his hands folded behind his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact - The running title for this work for a long time was 'The Values of Starfleet' and was probably my second choice. The third running title was 'What Makes a Good Man' ... before I remembered the very, very well-known song of the same title.


	11. Recertification Training

When Jim first saw Pike, leaning over the railing and watching the sim, his first instinct was to turn around and run away. He would have, if it weren’t for … _well,_ he owed Spock a hell of a lot and congratulating him for getting re-certified was the least he could do. Part of him had debated bringing flowers, but Spock didn’t strike him as a flower guy. Or a chocolate guy. Or a gift guy.

Jim looked a lot better than before. That helped. Jim had cleaned up, shaved, and actually put in some effort to comb his hair. He also hadn’t had a drink in twelve hours, and although that was a good start, it started to make him feel antsy. If he drank, he knew he wouldn’t stop, and the idea of disappointing Pike _and_ Spock again within a short time frame was too much.

Or maybe he was feeling antsy because of the impending pressure of talking to his former mentor. They hadn’t exactly rescheduled that meeting.

“Are you allowed back here, son?” Pike asked him, crunching loudly on an apple. Jim joined him in leaning against the railing. Jim noted that he was dressed in civilian clothing and the rest of the facility seemed largely uninhabited. Nobody had stopped him on the way in. _One hell of a security risk, guys!_

“You gonna pick me up and toss me out, Chris?”

Pike flashed a half-smile that he quickly wiped off his face. “Like it’d do any good, kid. You’d manage to get back in.” Jim looked over the sim, getting a bird’s eye view of it. Spock was sitting in the Captain’s chair, though Jim was too far up to hear what was going on. This was one-way, anyway – he could look down into the sim to see what Spock was doing, but if Spock looked up, he would only see the ceiling of the starship. He wondered if Spock knew he was watching.

The juvenile part of him just wanted to shout loudly and pretend to be God, calling out from the heavens. He had a feeling that would be disqualifying.

They were doing boarding checks, still, Jim could see from the monitors. Spock looked _good_ in the Captain’s chair. Holo-crewmembers sat around him, a variety of different races, genders generated at random. In sequence, they gave their departmental reports. Spock’s fingers tapped at the monitors around him, noting the readings, before continuing down the checklist.

Wow. He had nice hands. How hadn’t he noted Spock’s hands before? He’d have to tell him, later, in a way that didn’t scream _hey, I’m a gigantic creep._ Or maybe he’d let it go.

He remembered Spock saying that they would have a date after the exam, maybe. They hadn’t made any plans; Jim hadn’t even talked to him since seeing him in the hospital. He wasn’t going to bring it up today, if ever. Spock needed to focus and celebrate, if he wanted to.

Still, there were no rules against ogling him a little bit from a distance. He looked really, really good in a Captain’s uniform. Mm. Jim hadn’t ever gotten the opportunity to crush on a Captain, but hey, maybe now was his chance.

“Put your tongue back in your mouth.”

Jim snapped out of it, looking over at his mentor beside him. Right. “I – was just – it’s been a while, y’know, since I’ve – “

“Ew, son.”

“Since I’ve _seen_ the inside of a starship. Jesus, Chris.”

Pike flashed a more confident smile at that, turning around to put his back against the railing. For the most part, the sim was self-automated. If Spock made any grievous errors, it would be recorded automatically. Even so, there was no hesitation in Spock’s actions as he finished the checks. There was an awkward silence between them, for a full minute, before Jim heard a noise.

Beside him, Pike started to break down in laughter. His shoulders shook with the effort of it and he brought up a hand to wipe it off. Jim looked at him questioningly. _Let me in on the joke, buddy._

“Shoulda known I’d end up seeing you again,” Chris explained. “And I shouldn’t have been surprised that it’d be in a hospital room. Getting into messes is in your nature. Don’t know why I ever thought otherwise.”

Jim was almost offended, but then he remembered how many times he’d called Pike, bored to tears, from the biobed of the USS _Republic_ ’s medical bay.

(That Finney had never visited him should’ve been a bad sign, huh?)

“Well,” Jim retorted in defense, “I _really_ didn’t want to meet with you.”

“Scared? Not like you.”

“I just – look, you weren’t at the trial. I get why. I’m not mad, it actually made it easier. Long as we didn’t meet, I could go on believing that you … damn it. That you weren’t embarrassed to know me, I guess?” Jim felt his cheeks heating up, his eyes firmly on Spock below. “Dunno. No protocol about what to do when the kid you got into Starfleet gets sentenced to murder.”

“Yeah.” Pike finished his apple core, tossing it with surprising aim into the nearby compost. “Kid. I’m not gonna pretend that I know what was going through your mind, or why you did what you did. Hell, I’m not even going to pretend that you’re a good man. I’m not giving you a promotion, I’m not putting you in charge of anything, I’m not putting others at risk because of you. With you discharged, I have literally no authority over you.”

Well, shit. Jim felt himself deflate.

“But I’m not embarrassed to know you. I got you into Starfleet and you did fan-fucking-tastic, up until you did what you did. I’m not going to regret my decision to bring you here. Everything else, everything you did? That’s yours. _You_ get to deal with it.”

Jim breathed out through his nose, his eyes dipping down to the sim again. The entire sim rocked as the ‘starship’ lifted off. Suddenly, the central viewscreen was filled with stars as the starship rocketed into the galaxy. They got out of atmo and started to speed into the black, the bright pinpricks of stars stretching to shining bands of light.

The holocrew were stretched over their monitors, as efficient and as uninterrupted as the ship herself. For a second, Spock looked no different – sitting there, confident, stoic, unmovable. The entire image could have been on a promotional card for Starfleet.

That, the ship, was much easier to focus on. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to drink (who was he kidding, he _definitely_ wanted to drink) or cry (it was still an option), but … at least Chris wasn’t ashamed of him.

Sure, he believed he was guilty, but that wasn’t unexpected. Hell, Spock believed he was guilty, he was mostly sure. Bones did, too. He was the only person who knew the truth.

“So, um,” Jim changed the subject, aware of Pike’s eyes razor-focused on his face. “You and Spock were on a ship together? I had no idea.”

“Yeah. USS _Theseus_. Man, she was a dream,” Pike sighed, accepting the change in subject. Pike always liked to talk about feelings _way too much,_ and Jim knew his face wasn’t going to drain of color anytime soon. “Turned on a dime, just needed a wrist-flick to get to max warp … beautiful lady.”

Jim whistled.

“Yeah. Big shiny new ship. Now, she probably seems outdated to the folks who helped build the _Enterprise_.”

“That’s the new one? Spock mentioned it, before.”

“Brand new, not officially cleared for space travel yet. I keep trying to get Spock on it. He’s got the credentials for it. And they’re going to put her on an exploratory mission, which Spock would do great at. He’s a good science officer, and a great first officer.”

Damn. Jim felt jealousy hit him square in the chest. If things had gone just a little bit different, maybe he would’ve been in the Captain’s chair, exploring strange new worlds. That had been his trajectory. If he’d done well on the _Republic,_ a little bucket with a couple dozen crew, then it was the next logical step. And _god,_ he’d _wanted_ it.

Now, his big plan was to explore the next strange new bar that had just opened in the city. Was it still a dive bar if it had just been built? The peeling paint had to be intentional.

“You think? Your gut instinct is apparently not the best,” Jim remarked, gesturing to himself. It was intended as a joke. “At least when it comes to judgement of character.”

Pike’s humor disappeared in an icy glare, and Jim wanted to shrink back. “I’m positive.” He sighed, turning around to watch Spock again.

Spock was speaking with a holo-Orion on the main viewscreen, clearly testing the diplomatic section of the simulation. It was important, much moreso than combat, to be able to speak to diplomats. They were not only explorers and navigators and (occasionally) babysitters, but representatives of the United Federation of Planets.

Jim couldn’t hear him, but from his lips – oh, the fucking show off was speaking fluent Orion instead of using Standard. Jim’s heart thumped loud in his chest. He was lovesick. “Yeah, you noticed that, too, huh. Spock was a model first officer. Steadfast, intelligent, independent. It’s not his record that would hold him back.”

“What would?”

“Him. His head.” Looking genuinely stressed, Pike pinched his lower lip with his finger. “After the _Theseus_ went down, he wasn’t the same. Hell, I don’t think any survivor was, but for Spock … the PTSD’s getting him bad.” _Spock? PTSD?_ “Think the thought of going back on a starship scares the shit out of him. But he’s so fucking _good_ at being on a starship. I’m pushing him on this, god help me, I know I am, but Starfleet needs a guy like Spock. And I know if I keep pushing him, he’ll do a lot more than he ever thinks he can achieve.”

Jim could only blink at Pike, and then back at Spock. The holo-ship encountered a moderate amount of turbulence. Spock barely flinched in his chair, even as the holocrew jostled. The diplomat flickered off the screen, and Spock made a small course correction.

“ _Him?”_ While it was true that Jim had no idea about Vulcan mental health, Spock hadn’t seemed … he couldn’t imagine seeing Spock _panicked._ Any Vulcan being panicked.

“He’s got a brain, just like you and me. It’s not bulletproof,” Pike grunted.

“So what – I mean, damn, what happened exactly to him? I know the _Theseus_ was attacked by a Romulan vessel, we nearly went to war over it, but –”

The lights flickered around the simulation, and it gave another violent shake. Jim cut himself off to stare down. Not red alert, yet, not even yellow, but it was a bumpy ride to be sure. Spock made a move to adjust the course again, and then, the security officer turned to make a report.

As he did, there was another tremor going through the simulation. This wasn’t turbulence, Jim suddenly realized. This wasn’t _bad weather._ Spock nodded at the crewmember’s report, and went to yellow alert.

“Hostile species of unknown origin,” Pike mentioned grimly. “The last part of the sim.”

Jim couldn’t believe the bullshit he was hearing.

“You put him in a goddamn sim where he gets attacked _after he was in a ship where he got fucking attacked?”_

“He can _do_ this. He has to do this, if he wants to be on a starship again.” Pike hissed, his hand clenching around the pole of the railing. “Just – he can do this. _Watch_ him.”

Spock was reacting according to protocol. He was speaking to a fuzzy, undefined figure over the main viewscreen while lights flashed around the core of the bridge. The shields were holding; Jim could see one of the monitors from here, but they wouldn’t hold for long. Then, they’d be a pile of junk metal, a gigantic target.

“What’s the solution?” Jim let his shock go for now. He needed to know the solution for this.

“Couple of different solutions. Varying degrees of correctness. Max warp out, dive and cloak, destroy the attacking vessel, evac the vessel in escape pods. Those are the official solutions, in order.”

“No chance of a diplomatic solution?”

“They don’t speak Standard. The translators can’t begin to make heads or tails of what they’re saying, either.” Pike’s muscles were tense as he gripped onto the railing. The sounds, the alarms, it was so familiar. Jim felt adrenaline flood his veins. A Pavlovian reaction. “You get points for trying, though. Some people have also tried some unique maneuvering of the ship. Points for creativity, but this isn’t fucking art school.”

Diplomacy appeared to be Spock’s plan, at the moment. Spock was attempting the universal translator at the main viewscreen, but to no success. Still, he didn’t seem deterred as he ordered the viewscreen off and began to read the monitors for information.

The lights went down on the bridge, the entire sim plunging into darkness. When they came up a second later, Spock immediately went to red alert. “Shields are down. Come on, Spock, come on … “ Pike grunted beside him, his fingers digging into the metal of the railing. Jim was rapt. Something seemed to sound from Spock’s communicator and he reached down to listen to it. “That’ll be engineering informing that one of the engines has been hit. He’s running out of options, here.”

“He won’t be able to go to max warp like that,” Jim grumbled. “Spock, you got this, man, let’s go. Impulse. You gotta try and impulse out of here.”

As he waited for Spock’s next movement, he noticed that the man had simply … stopped. He had become more quiet than the crew. The red lights still flashed over his face, the alarms still screamed, but Spock’s hand had paused on the buttons of the Captain’s chair. He was still as a statue as the entire sim rocked and shook around him, roaring in his ears. Successive blasts hit the ship, rocking it again.

The lighting system was beginning to go haywire, power flicking in and out of the bridge. A few of the holo crew members were knocked out of their chairs, but Spock remained solidly seated. Jim watched as one crewmember fell out of their chair and dissipated into light. It was a fairly morbid way of the sim indicating that that crewmember had injured themselves, enough to the point where they were no longer available to help.

On the viewscreen, Jim saw the attacking ship. It was a hunk of junk, essentially a pile of guns superglued to a toycar. All offense, no defense. Only backward facing impulse engines, incapable of warp, with _maybe_ a dozen people as crew. Their allegiance was not clear.

“What the _hell_ are you doing, Spock?” Pike was determined, leaning over the railing. He looked as if he wanted to help. Even as Pike asked, realization dawned on his face. Jim had it figured out from the beginning.

Spock was shutting down.

Jim pushed himself off the railing before he could properly think of a plan, his footsteps thudding against the overhanging metal pathway. He had to get to the door of the holosuite. He _had_ to. He couldn’t just watch Spock crash and burn like this.

“Jim!” Pike was running behind him, he could hear him, but Jim had gotten a headstart. “You can’t help him!”

His hand rested on the door of the holosuite when he made it, sparing just enough time to look over his shoulder at Pike. His other hand typed in the entry-code for access ( _they really didn’t change these, after all this time? Hell of a security risk)_.

“It’s not cheating if I’m not supposed to be here!”

The door slid open, and Jim went in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another surprise double feature! Previous chapter ended up being a little short, so I decided to throw the next one in. Thank you to everyone who's read/commented/kudos'ed (and followed along with this fic, because wow, we're coming up on the two month mark now!)


	12. A U-Turn Solution

On the other side, the door appeared to be, by all respects, the exterior of a standard starship turbolift. Jim stepped out of the turbolift in an …. engineering _uniform?_ Well, he had considered that line of work in the Academy, but he was a little rusty at the fundamentals. He put a hand on it for a second, testing the fabric, and found it remarkably realistic. They’d made some upgrades.

“Captain Spock, I’ve come to replace the injured crewmember.” Jim relayed breathlessly, and the captain’s chair slowly slid around to face him.

Spock looked _terrified,_ in a way that Jim hadn’t been able to see from a distance.

His eyes were wide, pupils dilated. Although the walkway above made it look like Spock was sitting still, Jim noticed that his fingers were visibly shaking on the monitor. His hand rested on the buttons of the console, still – hovering over the evacuation order without making the command.

Technically a correct solution, but that was useless unless Spock actually _ordered it._

“We can save the ship, Captain,” Jim continued as he approached the empty chair on the bridge. He sat in it and turned to his console. The station didn’t recognize him until Jim tapped in another code, but then it hummed to life. “Me and the rest of Engineering have figured it out.”

At first, Jim worried that Spock was too far gone, too shaken up to do anything but shut down. Jim had sympathy. God knew he’d been there. When he’d first seen the tape of him essentially ordering Finney’s death at trial, he hadn’t been able to respond to any questions. He had wanted to vomit and that had taken most of his attention. 

“Report.” Spock’s voice was quiet, trembling against the blaring alarms of the bridge, but Jim grinned nonetheless at him. _You’re working with me, Spock, that’s all I need._

“We can’t go to max warp. But all we need is speed and a head start. How fast do you think _that_ hunk of junk,” Jim asked, pointing at the monitor, “Can hang a u-turn?”

There was a moment of silence where Jim worried, in all of his years of living among humans, Spock had never heard the term _u-turn._

But Spock understood. He pressed himself back against his chair, raising against the seat a few inches, and then sunk with a shuddering breath. Jim could understand why. _This is a stupid idea._ “Captain to all crewmembers,” he announced, his fingers pushing down on his communicator, “Prepare for evasive maneuvers.”

Spock turned to the navigator. “Pilot the ship for a full-frontal collision to the enemy starship, at max impulse speed.”

Even the holo-crewmember seemed to hesitate. “Captain?”

“At once. Viewscreen on.”

Jim could feel the ship engines thrumming harder underneath him, rumblingly realistic. For a second, he forgot he was in a simulation. It was all so _familiar_ , and Jim was _excited_. _We are playing goddamn chicken with a starship._ The metal flooring seemed to vibrate under his feet as the ship started to hurtle towards the opposing vessel.

On the viewscreen, Jim could see it a little better. It looked like whoever had designed this simulation hadn’t paid very much attention to the finer details of it; it was a wonder that inefficient junkheap could even fly _theoretically._

All the focus had went to its offensive techniques. They had limited life support. No warp. Backward-facing thrusters _only._

“Head-on impact imminent in twenty seconds,” The navigator reported. “Fifteen … ten … five.”

Jim’s heart was in his throat. He wasn’t sure how the simulation would handle total shipboard destruction, or how advanced its near-death-experience capabilities were, but it wasn’t going to be … pleasant.

Spock’s voice was clear, sailing over the bridge.

“Adjust course downward and under the enemy vessel.”

Suddenly, the entirety of the holo-ship started to shift, and everyone on the bridge slid back against their chairs as the holoship angled downward and under. _Jesus, you really cut it close, Spock, we’re almost scraping the bottom of the enemy ship._ The engines roared as the angle changed and soon, the radar indicated that both ships were right on top of each other.

“Adjust course upward once we will no longer impact the enemy vessel’s stern,” Spock replied easily. After a moment of baited silence, the ship adjusted up. The radar showed the starship stern-to-stern for a moment, before their starship rocketed ahead.

Whether the AI of the enemy vessel got confused or whether Jim’s strategy had been sound, the enemy vessel paused in space, attempted to pivot on itself, failed, and then started to make a long, semi-arcing journey to make a u-turn back towards Spock’s vessel.

“Set course back to the neighboring starbase, at the highest speed we’re capable of. And Engineer Kirk,” Spock added, his chair turning towards Jim, “Attempt a repair of the shields.”

“Aye-aye, Captain, I’ll get right to it.” Jim replied half-jokingly, although Spock’s face was still solemn. On the other hand, Jim couldn’t stop grinning. The ship exited red alert. There was a few minutes of silence, punctuated only by Spock’s light tapping on the monitor before they achieved a considerable distance from the enemy vessel.

The lights went down to a low dim. When they came back up again, the holocrew was gone. Only him and Spock were there, and Spock’s eyes were glued to him. Jim wished he could read his mind, because he’d like to know if he was getting his head bitten off by a Vulcan.

“Captain certification test completed.” The starship’s computer stated, before the holo-starship started to fade away around them. Soon, it was just Jim and Spock standing alone in the empty holosuite. Jim looked down at his civilian clothes again, feeling faintly empty.

When he looked up, there was Pike, standing in the empty doorway of the turbolift. The bridge of his nose was pinched between three fingers.

“Admiral.” Spock turned to face him. “I apologize for the – “

“You didn’t do a _god_ damn thing, Spock. _Jim,_ what the hell?”

Jim raised his hands in mock-surrender, but he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. “Hey, I didn’t disturb anything. The plan for escape was all Spock’s _excellent leadership_.”

_Sure, maybe it was my idea, but it worked and Jesus, I wish I had a chance to try it out in real-time._

“If you hadn’t been there – “

“I would not have done anything and allowed the ship to be destroyed.” Spock’s voice chimed in, and Jim almost cracked his neck in looking at him. Spock’s gaze was on the floor. “Therefore, I should not pass certification.”

Jim fixed him with a look of betrayal.

_Dude. Back me up here._

“He relied on his _crew_ ,” Jim argued between the two of them. “That’s the most important part of a – Pike, come here,” he cut himself off, walking off towards Pike and slapping a hand on his shoulder collaboratively. “Former Captain to former Captain. We’re nothing without our crew. We’re just a dickhead in a chair. Sure, okay, Spock might’ve failed the certification if a crewmember hadn’t snapped him out of it, but he’s going to have a crew with him.”

“Jim, c’mon. You saw what I saw. Can you really say – “

“That he thought of a brand new solution which got his ship out of this mess without harming anyone? That’s what we need up in the sky. _Innovation._ ”

Pike didn’t respond at first, looking tired and aggrieved, before the computer chimed in again. All three men’s eyes turned to stare at the screen.

“Score calculated for Commander Spock’s certification exam. Points deducted for: engine failure.

Proximity to enemy vessel.

Shield failure.

Crewmember injury. Points awarded for:

No fatalities.

No starship destruction.

Unique solution.

Final score: 92%. Score necessary to pass: 90%.

Congratulations. Your certification status has been updated.”

Jim stuck his finger in the air. “Uh, sorry, Spock, were you saying something about not passing?”

“Alright, son, I still have the authority to fail him, let’s not – “

“Come on, Chris. He’s a good officer. You said so yourself.” Spock’s gaze shot up from the floor and locked onto Jim, before hesitantly looking over to Pike. If Jim didn’t know any better, he’d say the expression on Spock’s face was _shy._ “Don’t fail him because I interrupted his training. He did everything right, he just needed something to ground him. _Chris.”_ Jim’s tone was near-begging.

Pike growled in frustration, turning around and facing the wall. His hands were on his hips and Jim heard a few curses get muttered under his breath. “Spock,” he prophesied, back to him. “Kirk is gonna get you into a whole heap of trouble. I’m telling you right now, you keep associating with him, he’s gonna drag you into something big and bad, and not even your Vulcan principles are gonna get you out of it.”

There was a pregnant pause, before Pike turned around to face both of them. “But Jim’s right. You do have to rely on your crew, no matter what your rank is. I still got a lot of convincing to do to get you back on a starship. Feels like failing you would set me back. And it was a dumb ass idea of mine to spring that on you, anyway.”

“Admiral?” Spock asked.

“Well, hell. I shoulda brought a cigar for the situation.” Pike stepped forward, clapping a hand on Spock’s shoulder. There was pride in his face. “Congrats, Spock. You’re re-certified.”

Jim could’ve hugged him. Both of them. At that moment, Spock seemed stunned. He looked as if he might’ve argued, but in the end, restrained himself. He nevertheless stood in thought. Pike turned towards Jim and offered a reconciliatory smile. “I at least owe you a drink or dinner. You gonna come, Jim?”

“We cannot,” Spock announced, even as Jim stepped forward to politely decline. Yeah, no, he was not about to have a drink with the Admiral. That was going to end badly. “I assured Jim we would have a date after my certification exam.”

Had Jim died? Maybe he’d slipped and fell while getting into the holodeck and cracked his skull wide open. If so, he was pleasantly surprised to discover he wasn’t waking up in Hell.

“A date.” Jim was startled, the ecstatic grin fading from his face. A _date._ Spock had remembered. Spock wasn’t politely turning him down back in the hospital. Spock wanted to go on a _date._ “Um – yeah,” he coughed, “We had a date. Have. We have a date.”

Pike’s face was somewhere between amused and utterly stupefied. “You two have a date. Now, I seem to remember you telling me that Vulcans don’t date. What was that you said about it? An ‘emotional and impractical process’?”

“Yes, but there are no determined regulations for half-Vulcans. Jim asked me while he was recovering in the clinic.”

“And you’re – while he was recovering from alcohol poisoning. After you had watched his murder trial.” Pike seemed convinced that someone was playing a joke on him, his eyes narrowing on Jim. Jim put both of his hands up in a universally helpless gesture, beaming wildly. _Hey. I’m as surprised as you are, buddy. This guy is way too good for me._

“That is correct.”

Finally, Pike just laughed in shock. Jim let out a sigh of relief. He’d never brought someone back home to his folks (for obvious reasons), but for some reason, he really wanted Chris to approve of this, even if they were all adults here. “Well,” Pike mentioned, “You don’t do anything halfway, do you?”

“You know me and trouble, Chris. They can’t strip that away from me.”

“And you, Spock? Jim was ogling you earlier, so I get it, but you’re … okay with this?”

“Yes. I have considered the benefits of such an outing, as well as the risks. It is also an adequate opportunity to study human culture.” Spock’s eyes flicked to Jim. “Ogling?”

He felt his cheeks grow red and he glared daggers at Pike. _Ass._ Jim wasn’t sure if he should be offended by Spock’s clinical description of a date, but in the end, he stuck with gratitude. Because, _genuinely,_ why would Spock ever go on a date with him?

He was a washed-up drunk who’d been kicked out of Starfleet and – _great,_ he hadn’t thought this was a stained shirt when he put it on that morning, but there was definitely a very visible stain. Spock had agreed to go on a date and he had a stain on his shirt. Jim awkwardly tried to hide it.

Maybe Spock was honest, and it _was_ just a research study. Jim had been on worse dates than that. The Klingon date had been _pretty_ bad. Even if that were the case, Jim was looking forward to it. More than he had looked forward to something, genuinely, for a while. Somehow, even if Spock was just using him, Jim still wanted to go.

“Then – I guess, you two lovebirds have fun,” Pike remarked in amazement. “Spock, I didn’t know your type was so goddamn weird.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!   
> Next week is the date. <3 Thank you all for your comments! I read/love all of them, even if I always forget to respond -- plus, God knows I WILL spoil something later in the story if I talk too much. I'll just say that I'm a fan of absolutely happy endings. Bittersweet has its time and place, but I've always preferred happily-ever-after. Or maybe I'm a gigantic liar.


	13. First Date Jitters

When they exited the facility, the sun had already begun to set across the Starfleet campus. It sent rays of dying light across the perfectly manicured lawns. The massive buildings surrounding the campus yielded towering shadows, and the pathway lights would flick on here and there as they walked. The hum of the city was still present, but muted somehow as more people left work, school, and recreational activity to settle in for the night.

Spock, as they exited the training facility, had come under the conclusion that he did not know for certain what humans did on dates. They ate, certainly, but Jim did not look like he would be calm enough to sit, much less eat. Jim was half-vibrating beside him in the most unusual fashion. Anxiety, perhaps.

Exercise was a common social activity, Spock considered, and so the Starfleet-maintained park was an excellent option.

As it was nearing nightfall, the park was nearly deserted. Spock noticed, only once or twice on their journey, that an occasional head would pop up and fix Jim with a shocked, dead stare. If Jim noticed (he did not seem to), he did not comment on it. He seemed perfectly content with Spock’s company. For that, Spock was grateful.

“Alright, Spock, I’ve got a question for you,” Jim finally asked after a few minutes of silent walking, “You know as well as I do that we didn’t plan a date. Why tell Chris?”

“I informed you that we would have one after.”

“You said _perhaps_.”

“Perhaps indicates that it will or will not occur. In this circumstance, it did.”

“But … you said – “ Jim let out a groan of agony, so intense that Spock looked at him in concern. “I’ll just say it. I didn’t think you’d want to. I thought you were letting me down easy. ‘Maybe’ is pretty much a ‘no’ in the dating sector; I’m an expert.”

“Why would I not want to?”

“I’ll take ‘Convicted Murderer’ for 2000, Alex.”

Spock fixed him with such a perplexed look that Jim sighed.

“It was an old show. Trivia. Don’t worry about it. Point is, most people aren’t that eager to go on a date with a guy who killed another guy.”

It was not an invalid point. Spock knew little about what humans found desirable in one another but convicted homicide counts were generally unlikable. “You are fascinating,” Spock admitted. “And your behavior during my exam indicates that you are reckless but kindhearted, which corroborates my previously-held beliefs about you. I am not an expert in human romance, but people have entered into romantic outings for less sound reasons.”

“Yeah, but do you think I’m handsome?” Jim was deflecting from a true emotional conversation again. Spock did not mind. Speaking too much on emotion made Spock feel restless, as if he had been awake for too long.

It was _logical_ to find someone aesthetically pleasing, Spock told himself. It made sense, both for reproductive purposes and personal, mental happiness. Looking at pleasing images released neurotransmitters that made people feel _happy,_ and happiness was a generally desired goal. Therefore, convincing himself: “Yes. You are handsome.”

Jim had not been expecting that reaction, clearly, as he stumbled over his own footing. His face went red in a fashion that was entirely _too_ appealing, but he recovered quickly. “Likewise, Spock.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I was watching you during the exam, you’re … you look really good in a Captain’s chair, I have to say. Your hands are a dream.” Spock wanted to probe further, to ask what he meant about his hands being a dream, but Jim had already gone red once. Jim would perhaps combust if he tried a second time. Lapsing into quiet, Jim asked after a moment: “I could continue to gush, and I will, but … can I ask what happened in there? With you.”

Spock had been expecting the question from either Pike or Jim, although he was not altogether surprised that it came from Jim. Pike seemed to understand, in his entirely human way. After all, Pike had seen him on the _Theseus._ Understood how he was. Jim was new to this behavior.

“The simulation reminded me of another moment in my life. My mind was paralyzed. Through this inadequacy, I was frozen in inaction.”

“ _Whoa._ Inadequacy – what? You’re traumatized, Spock, that’s not inadequate.”

“It is, for the standards of the exam.”

“That makes it sound like it’s your fault.”

“It is.”

Stopping in frustration, Jim reached for Spock’s arm. Spock allowed it to be taken, although humans fondness for touch still perplexed him. At least it was over his uniform, and not his skin. He had grown used to it from humans – Pike had also been fond of light, affectionate touches. This seemed more of a request for him to cease walking.

“Spock. It _isn’t_ your fault. Yeah, you have to behave a certain way so you don’t put people in danger when you’re Captain, but even if something happens, if you freak out – yeah, you have to take responsibility for it, but it’s not because you didn’t try hard enough, or weren’t good enough of a person, or whatever. It’s got nothing to do with that.”

This was the Captain who had murdered his first officer in cold blood? The monster the courts had made him appear to be? Jim was fixing him with a concerned, passionate look.

“I mean, Jesus, Spock, you watched your ship get torn apart. That’ll mess up anyone.”

“I expected it to abate,” Spock admitted hollowly. “It has been some time since the destruction of the _Theseus_.”

“It’s not going to just go away. You have to work on it. And ignoring it isn’t a method of working on it.”

“How does one work on it?”

“Spock, I am 100% certain you were recommended a counselor when you returned to Earth. Starfleet rules. Did you take it?”

“I had other obligations.” Jim’s fierce look told him what he needed to know. “I will work on it. I must, as Pike clearly wants me to go to the _Enterprise_. The _Enterprise_ ’s first mission starts in six months.”

Somehow, it did not seem as daunting and otherworldly as it once did, after passing the exam. Was this … pride? Spock was proud of passing the exam? Perhaps that was why he had allowed Pike to pass him in the first place. It was validation that perhaps he _was_ suited for this sort of work.

“You know, you’ll have to keep in touch when you’re up there.” Dropping the argument, Jim resumed walking. The grip on his arm moved until Jim’s arm was casually linked around his. Spock wasn’t necessarily used to this action, but it was not expressly _uncommon_ on Vulcan. There was no strict skin-skin contact. “Tell me about all the adventures you get into.”

“I would not term them ‘adventures’.”

“Yeah, but that’s what they are, isn’t it?” Jim sighed. “Alright, discoveries, explorations, negotiations, whatever you want to call them – I miss ‘em. So you’re going to have to keep me updated.”

“I imagine Dr. McCoy’s daughter would also like to remain updated.”

Jim laughed at that, and Spock felt the arm linked around his relax. “Hah! Yeah. We’ll do a group call.” Spock felt a rush of pleasure. _I am performing well at the date. Good._ The feeling that Jim was enjoying himself made Spock feel content. After a tumultuous exam, Spock enjoyed that this had relatively low stakes, comparatively. Just time with a man he liked.

“I will make certain to keep you informed of it, though I do not imagine it will be as chaotic as you predict.” Still, Spock noted in the back of his mind, it _would_ be somewhat more challenging than grading students’ starship designs. Which would not be _unwelcome_ …

_But they had trusted him to protect them. Trusted all of the senior crew. Regardless of their care, their jump into action, most of the crew had ended up dying anyway. Including the two that Spock felt a particular kinship with._

It was enough to quiet the excitement that Spock had been feeling.

Spock lapsed into quiet for some time at that thought, as they continued to walk through the park. The weather was pleasant – too cool for Spock’s liking, but nonetheless warm for San Francisco. As they continued, other parkgoers seemed more focused on their own activities. They passed picnickers, a drama club practicing a play, two lovers on a blanket staring up at the sky.

Of course there were recreational activities on Vulcan, but … Spock could not help but marvel at how open they were about their emotions, their passions on Earth. His eyes dipped to where his arm was linked with Jim’s. Infectious.

“Hey, look, a chess board,” Jim remarked, gesturing towards the public chess set. “You play?”

“I have never been beaten by a human.”

“Well – you haven’t played _this_ human.” Separating their arms, Jim wandered over to the chess set and sat himself down. With a wave of his hand, the holographic pieces appeared, already ready for the first move. “I used to play on the shipboard computer. Those things _can’t_ be beat, but hell, it made me better.”

Spock had to agree with his point. He also often played against the shipboard computer; there were no known wins against them at their maximum difficulty setting. He had programmed a few himself – it was not even theoretically possible.

He joined Jim on the other side of the board and allowed him to take the first movie.

“So, if I win …” Jim drawled, half-jokingly. His hand stilled on the particular piece – a rook. “Let’s see.”

“Chess is not normally a gambling game, Jim. I also must repeat that I have never been beaten by a human.”

“So you’ve got every right to refuse _and_ the odds are high against me. Hm.” He moved his piece at random, right in the line of sight of his bishop. Spock raised an eyebrow. _This was going to be ridiculously easy._ “How about a kiss?”

If Jim’s technique was distraction, he temporarily succeeded. Spock’s strategy left him as he looked up at Jim in surprise. Again, his Vulcan side spoke out against it, but … he was already on a _date._ Physical affection was not that different than the emotional affection he had already displayed by agreeing.

Also … he could not say he did not _want_ to kiss him.

“Very well,” Spock agreed, his eyes falling to his chess set. “But you will not win.”

The game continued on. It went long, and Spock never felt any concern. He shifted strategies where appropriate, taking many of Jim’s pieces in the process. Spock lost a few, himself. Spock enjoyed himself nonetheless, even if the game was child’s play. Enjoyed the way Jim’s eyebrows furrowed, enjoyed the way he pressed the heel of his palm against his chin, enjoyed the slight ‘hrmphs’ and ‘nnghs’ he heard from Jim.

As the game progressed and they were lit only by the walkway lamps up above, Spock became struck with how Jim’s moves wavered from entirely random to well-practiced strategy. At no point did Spock become worried, until …

“Check.”

“Hm?” Spock asked, before he saw that Jim’s other rook had moved within sight of his king. “Ah.”

Jim politely ‘check’-ed him a half dozen more times, to Spock’s steadily growing internal frustration. Still, Spock kept his composure whilst Jim’s moves became more brutal, more unrelenting, both sides whittling down. After a moment, Spock realized that he was only delaying the inevitable. With only his king, rook, knight, and a pawn, Spock was pinned.

His face tightening into grim determination, Spock moved his piece into a temporary haven. He already knew his loss. Smirking, Jim checkmated him.

“Hey, you did a good job,” Jim congratulated him, although Spock noted the look on his face was smug. “I was worried a couple of times. So much for not being beaten by a human, huh?”

_Indeed._

Spock stared at the board in amazement, before back up at Jim. This … should not have been unreasonable, at this point. Jim had proved remarkable talent to him in many areas, why would he not _also_ be gifted in chess? It was absurd. His only flaw appeared to be the murder charge. _Perhaps,_ Spock considered, _if he is so perfect in so many other ways, his only flaw_ must _be as severe as murder._

Instead of growing frustrated, Spock found himself more entranced by the man. How fascinating. He was pleased that he was on a date with him – and was grateful that Jim had accepted his offer of a date.

“You played well.” With a wave of his hand, the holo-pieces disappeared. “I was unable to predict many of your moves.”

“That’s the human way – utterly random until we hit our head on something right.”

“We will play again, and I will beat you.”

“Oh, Spock, I’ve got no goddamn doubt. You’re way better than I am. That’s the thing about random – statistically, sometimes, you’re hosed. Sometimes you beat the best guy in San Francisco.” Jim winked at him.

“I have not tested myself. It is inaccurate to term me as the best chess player in San Francisco.”

“Hey, I didn’t say best _chess player._ But going on a date with Jim goddamn Kirk, the disgrace to the Federation? If that doesn’t make you the best guy, I don’t know what does.”

It was self-depreciating, for certain, but nevertheless a high compliment. Spock privately thought that, in terms of sheer talent, perhaps he was sitting across from the best guy in San Francisco. Other than the eternally present dilemma – the murder.

To respond, Spock raised his arm and placed his elbow on the chess table. He extended out two fingers, his index and middle, and presented them to Jim. “We had an agreement as to your prize.”

A flicker of surprise and confusion lit across Jim’s futures. Although Spock held no ill will against him for winning, he did privately experience the joy of knowing something Jim didn’t. Jim did not know _everything_ , including basic Vulcan affection practices _._

Jim stared at it for a second, before gingerly raising his hand. With the look of almost childlike curiosity and uncertainty, he gripped both of Spock’s fingers with his entire hand before making eye contact with Spock. Spock flushed green – _not quite –_ and rearranged Jim’s hand so that he pressed his two fingers against his own.

Spock supposed that it was more meaningful to him than to a psi-null human, but that was no matter. As soon as their skin brushed against one another, Spock felt the inner workings of Jim’s mind approach Spock’s own. Their minds grew closer, an invisible, temporary connection linking them both.

_Ow._

At first, it was too bright and too strong, too many things at once to make coherent sense out of. Spock was almost tempted to pull away. It was as if he’d just snorted water up his nose, burning and overwhelming. After a few moments of it, though, his mind began to organize it. From there, he could note the minor emotions, the dregs: some pain, some guilt, some fear, some exhaustion, some relief. They all paled in response to the main emotion shooting across their contact.

 _Affection._ Jim was experiencing strong … affection, presumably for him. That was corroborated by the smile growing over his face. Spock knew he went a little green in his neck, quickly reaching up for his face. He reached the next conclusion quickly – although it was not an illogical one, and one he could have rationally sorted out, the thought of it made him crack a small, shy smile at his date.

Jim _liked_ him.

And he did really, really like Jim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly halfway there! :) And Happy Two-Month-Plus-Two-Days-anniversary, y'all. Here is the inevitable 'Jim beats Spock at chess' portion that inevitably comes up in every Spirk fic. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's commented/left kudos/read! Means a lot and I get a kick reading through them (that sweet sweet validation). Have a good rest of your Sunday!


	14. A Cautionary Tale

“I just think it’s a bad idea,” Bones muttered, peering over the produce expectantly. Grocery stores were slowly fading out of the public eye, but this one – a mom and pop store that was maybe five aisles in total – seemed to stand, if only due to its longstanding significance. A hundred years of total operation was something to be proud of. “You’re not in the right headspace for it. A month ago, and I was still getting calls about you getting shitfaced in front of cadets.”

Although Bones relied on the replicator like anyone else, he liked to cook every now and then. It was a lost art, he would often sigh wistfully, and although the replicator might be technically more nutritious, it took all the joy out of it. It took the _variability_ out of cooking.

“You’re not that kind of doctor to be psychoanalyzing me.” Jim leaned against one of the columns in the store, watching Bones compare to pears to one another. “And besides – we’re three dates in. And it’s going _great._ We talk, we’ve had dinner, did I … did I tell you I got him to laugh the other day? Like, for a while?”

“Really? Well, only about a thousand times, but I’m sure I could hear it again. Also, I know some about psychology.” Bones plucked an apple from the produce display, inspecting it. “When’s the last time you had a drink?”

 _This morning, as I was reading the news. Multiple drinks._ It had become somewhat easier not to drink on the days that he had a date with Spock, because he had _two_ embarrassing alcohol-related incidents in front of him and it drove his anxiety up like nothing else to think of having a third.

Days where he didn’t, though … like today, where Spock was busy with his final exams. Those were harder.

“Don’t know how that matters.”

Bones shot him a hard look. “I have a sense of smell, you know.”

Jim froze from his casual lean on the wall.

“I’m just saying, I don’t think it’s healthy for you to pin your entire recovery on Spock. I’m not saying I’m not happy for you, or that it’s bad that you’re recovering at _all_ … just don’t want you codependent on him in case it goes south.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Believe me – my faith in love is at an all time low.”

Oh, shit. Jim noticed an unusual melancholy behind Bones’ typically stern eyes in that instant, and he pushed himself off the column. Ignoring him, Bones continued to move the cart down the aisle. He’d been spending more time with Bones lately, and he had just now noticed that something was unusual about him. “You … you wanna talk about it?”

Bones shot him a wary eye, and Jim was going to back off, before he grunted and picked up a carrot. “We’re gonna try a separation. See if that makes anything better. If not, I mean – I don’t know. I don’t know, Jim.”

Suddenly, Jim remembered every time that he’d told Bones _in detail_ of every _minute_ of his date with Spock. Guilt swept through him, and he looked shamefully in the cart. _You selfish prick._

“Don’t do that,” Bones sighed, pausing to rest his elbow on the handle of his cart and face him. “This was a long time coming, before I even met you, jackass. You haven’t factored into it at all. It just happens.” Jim wasn’t sure whether he was telling the truth or just trying to make him feel better.

“Yeah, but if it makes you feel bad, if I talk about it – “

“It doesn’t. You know, it’s kind of like when you go to a zoo and see two animals fucking behind a glass. That’s what I think when I look at you two.”

It was said with such venom and derision that Jim couldn’t help but crack a smile at him, relieved. “So. What’ll happen to Jo?”

“ _Well._ We’re gonna try and work out custody. Assuming my deployment doesn’t change, in which case …”

“Do you think it will?”

“It will,” Bones muttered grimly. “Eventually. Always does, in Starfleet, and I’m a damn good doctor. In which case, we’ll work something out between us.”

Hard situation to deal with. Jim had been one of those kids, Mom constantly on a starship somewhere. After what happened to her husband, she hadn’t wanted to have him aboard. She could’ve tried a little harder, Jim privately thought, because maybe _then_ she would’ve noticed what kind of man Frank was –

Not about him, Jim reminded himself. And it was not time to bring up old trauma to his best buddy.

“Plenty of people do that for their kids, if they can’t go on a starship. Leave them with Mom or Dad and call whenever they can.” Jim remarked, wandering down the cereal aisle away from Bones. “And with how Jo is about space? Remember the Petunia planet? She’d _love_ hearing from you.”

He finally got Bones to crack a smile. “Yeah. I think that’ll raise her spirits about it. She’s not surprised this is happening, and we’ve had the whole ‘Mommy and Daddy still love you, that’s not changing’ talk with her, and she’s … “ The smile disappeared. “She’s a tough little lady.”

Jim made a mental note to stick around more often, for both of them. Bones was being the tough guy about all this, but he was the tough guy about everything. Jim didn’t know how he did it, but Bones was a fucking rock.

“Hey, you think she’ll like this?” Jim plucked a box of sugary cereal off the shelf.

“I think _you’ll_ like that.”

He clutched it against his chest. Was there any reason why he couldn’t purchase it for himself? No. Was it _much_ more fun to frustrate Bones into getting it for himself? _Yes._ “Come on. It’s got marshmallows. Some of ‘em are shaped fun. Live a little, Bones.”

Pushing the cart past him, Bones snatched it from Jim’s hands and dropped it in the cart. “Yeah, sure, asshole, don’t say I’ve never done anything for you.” Jim smirked as he followed behind him. “When’s your next date with Ears?”

“Couple of days. We’re gonna grab a bite, go to some jazz festival in the park, then I told him I’d beat his ass at chess again at his place. I won _once_ against him, but haven’t been able to beat him again.”

Bones held up a finger. “At his place?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you two … ?”

“What?” It took a few seconds for Jim to catch up. “Oh! God, your weird zoo animal metaphor. No, no. I haven’t even kissed the guy – in the human way. We do this thing with our fingers sometimes – “

“ _I don’t want to know that much.”_

“That I _think_ is like a Vulcan kiss, it’s just like,” Jim raised his hands and pressed the fingertips against each other like he had been doing. “Like that.”

“So he can get a sense of how you’re feeling.”

“What?”

“Vulcans are touch telepaths.” Jim seemed stupefied. “You didn’t know that?”

“I mean! I – I did, I just didn’t think – he’s only half, and -- I thought it had to be a _special_ touch or something. Like, literally, just from touching my fingers he can feel how I’m feeling?”

“Yeah. They’re pretty powerful.”

Although Jim wasn’t _actually_ upset about it, it was a little weird to think that Spock had been able to crawl into his mind, emotionally speaking, every time they kissed. He tried to scour past his mind to see if he’d been feeling anything embarrassing, but he couldn’t exactly remember his past emotions that specifically.

Huh. Something to think about, though.

“Wow. He’s not really an oversharer, yeah.” Pausing, Jim blinked as Bones took stock of what was in his cart. “But – I really enjoy myself, y’know? When I’m with him. And he knows _everything,_ so … it’s not like I have to worry about him finding out about my discharge. Yeah, we haven’t really been moving anywhere, but given how the past couple of months have gone … I’m okay just getting to know him. Besides, Vulcans don’t really do this, so I’m going his speed.”

“Yeah. And I’m happy for you, kid. Seriously, I am. Just …” Bones sighed, throwing Jim a wary eye. “Make sure you don’t spiral if something happens between you two. I’m glad you’re recovering, just making sure you’re doing it for more reasons than a half-Vulcan you’ve known for a month.”

Bones was a godsend. Jim glanced down at the cart, trying to determine what recipes Bones was planning on making with the ingredients he got. Oh, fucking _score,_ fruit salad and pork chops. “Yeah, yeah. It’s just that … when I’m with him, I forget about the entire goddamn martial. It’s like it’s just me, and him, and nothing else.” Still, weirdly enough, it felt _good_ to have someone worried about his mental health, even when he wasn’t scrambling around on rock bottom. “Bones, I ever tell you that I _do_ appreciate you looking out for me, though?”

“Don’t get sappy on me. You can _appreciate_ me by needing looking out for a little less.”

“So you don’t regret scraping me up from that alleyway and dragging me to your clinic, all those many, many years ago?”

“It was a year and a few months ago, asshole.” Bones grunted. “I’m a doctor. Do no harm. Plus, you know Starfleet always goes on and on about showing mercy and kindness to the people who need it. Hell, considering you were drunk off your ass and had thrown up all over your old Captain’s uniform, I think you qualified as ‘need it’.”

Jim grinned haphazardly at him. God bless Bones. Sure, Spock was a new and fantastically good-looking light in his life, but Bones had always been and would always be his rock.

“You want help with dinner tonight?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’ll keep you out of trouble, kid, and Jo’ll be thrilled to see you. Tell her a couple of stories and she’ll be happy.”


	15. The Enterprise

For the first time, Spock found himself distracted in conversation by a positive train of thought. Usually, when he was distracted, it was because he could not force his brain to budge from past trauma. This was a new phenomenon, one that would have to be explored more heavily later, but for now … it was pleasant to let his mind wander and think of Jim while Pike rambled beside him. Jim, and his laugh, and his surprising strength, and the way he had put his arm around him and allowed him to lean against his chest.

Five dates, in total. Last night, Jim had shown him a ridiculous holovid that seemed to center on highly irrational actions that involved the theft of a jewel from a well-known museum. Spock had watched, still, under the guise of research into human culture, but … it had been highly rewarding to watch Jim thoroughly enjoy himself.

Jim had fallen asleep towards the end of the film. Instead of waking him up and helping him to his home, Spock had simply laid him down, covered him in a blanket, and went to bed himself. Jim had stayed for breakfast. It had been much nicer than he’d expected. Jim’s hair, unkempt on the best of days, had been positively _ruffled_ when he’d woken up, and –

“Mr. Spock,” Pike coaxed beside him. “Not like you to get distracted. Everything okay?”

The Admiral and him had not spoken about his relationship, as casual as it was. Pike would not react negatively, given his reaction to the news of their first date, but Spock felt vulnerable at the thought of exposing it to him. He enjoyed his privacy. Meals and watching holovids and strolls through parks … that was for him.

“Indeed. I apologize. Can you repeat?”

“I was just apologizing. About what happened during your certification exam?” Pike took a breath and sighed, looking genuinely distraught from the act. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I thought … I thought if you knew it was fake, that it might make it better. I wanted to push you, but … not like that. Shoulda thought it through.”

Ah. Yes. Spock had predicted that something of that nature would happen at the end of the exam; recertification exams usually culminated with some potentially ship-destroying event. He had assumed that he would be fine.

Then he’d been sitting there, and everything about the _Theseus_ came rushing back, the sound of the shields lowering and the _blast_ of the impacts against the ship and the _there’s two Vulcans in engineering still, Captain, I can feel them, I have an obligation to_ ­–

No. Not today. Spock’s eyes shut a moment, taking the emotions and forcing them down, before he opened them again. His hands were starting to shake despite himself, and he placed them in his pockets. Pike did not notice. Or claimed not to.

It was not a good day. Jim staying for breakfast had been intensely enjoyable, but that meant Spock had not had the opportunity for his morning meditations. It left him feeling frayed and somewhat raw.

But Admiral Pike wanted to talk to him, and Spock had accepted.

“You did good. And I was wondering … if you still wanted that first officer position aboard the Enterprise.”

This again. Spock could have groaned. Between Jim urging him and Pike urging him, Spock felt he could never escape it. He hadn’t even brought up the possibility to his mother when she called a few days ago, and he hadn’t been in contact with his father in some years.

“I know that look on your face. I _know_ I keep riding your ass on this, but it sets out in four months, and the time’s whittling down, and I genuinely think you’d be the best option. A science officer as First, on an exploration vessel? It just makes sense.” Pike stopped at the end of the corridor. A starship hangar bay. Spock supposed that Pike had told him where they were going at some point, but that was when he had lost his concentration. Why were they at a hangar bay? “I know you’re probably on the fence about it still. So I thought of something to convince you.”

The door slid open, revealing the gargantuan, cavernous hangar bay. Spock could not see to the end of it, nor could he see the full extent of its sides. The lights could only assist so much here, making twin lines of spotlights until the bay yawned into darkness. This was not the usual hangar bay. This hangar bay was usually home to the decrepit and retired. As they walked, they passed a smaller vessel that looked to be in danger of falling in two.

“We’re keeping her here.”

“Excuse me?”

“The _Enterprise_. You won’t believe the amount of nosy neighbors we’ve got who want to take a peek at her. She’s meant to be a surprise.”

Understandable. There had been a large amount of publicity about this particular ship – one of the Starfleet’s largest, most luxurious, most defensive, and most research-focused. “Why have you brought me here?”

“I thought that maybe, if you got yourself a personal tour from yours truly,” Pike offered with a smile plastered on his face, “It might change your mind.”

Dread filled Spock immediately, dark and deep. _Today would be difficult._

After a few minutes of walking, tucked along one of the many crevices of the hangar, Spock saw her.

Vulcans were not immune to aesthetics, but Spock did not find himself to be an overly sentimental person. On the brief occasions where he wandered into poetic thoughts, he chastised himself for it. That was not the Vulcan way. It was not rational.

But, at seeing the Enterprise, Spock was enraptured.

A wide saucer section with two warp engine nacelles. Spock could stand there for an hour and be unable to note every one of her details. A wide spotlight stood over her, barely illuminating the top of her. He was looking directly at the main scanner array and the photon torpedo launcher, marveling at their size. There was an observation lounge visible just at the top of the ship, and that small curvature _must_ have been the main bridge.

Field geometry sensors. Deuterium loading bay. Impulse reaction system. Deflector grid. And enough space to hold hundreds, perhaps even a _thousand_ crewmembers. A floating city was not accurate – it was as if she were an entire world.

Spock wished Jim could be here, with him, to view it.

Beside him, Pike whistled. “Goddamn, but she is a beauty, isn’t she?”

Standing in front of her, Spock immediately felt like he was very, very small. That was irrational – all starships were massive, even if the Enterprise was significantly larger – but the idea that he would be the First to a ship like that …

Spock felt like he couldn’t breathe, and he hadn’t even stepped aboard.

“Come on. I’ll show you around.” Pressing a button on the hangar controls, a door slid open, allowing access to her. Inside the ship, Spock saw the inner bay lights spring to life. “See if I can’t convince you.”

They climbed up into the Enterprise, placing themselves in the primary loading bay. She seemed, as far as Spock could tell, entirely ready for space travel – she had been in development for five years, and he could not guess how long she had been sitting here, in this hangar. There was no dust, but that was not a surprise. The duct systems were advanced enough to manage that much.

“Fully designed to handle herself in a firefight, with labs just as advanced as you’d see in the Academy.” Pike was playing the gleeful tour guide, as pleased with himself as a schoolboy. They walked down the long corridors. Spock had a sense of familiarity, of walking with Pike down a starship corridor. There was something eerie about walking down a hallway in a ship meant for hundreds – a thousand – that was completely empty.

They stopped by the labs, and Pike allowed Spock to walk around. He did so in mostly silence, arms folded behind his back as he peered at the instruments and supplies. Inwardly, his stomach was in knots. _It was good._ Spock _wanted_ it, so badly, but the feeling of breathlessness and _terror_ was rising in him, so much he could taste it in the back of his throat.

 _There’s no Jim Kirk to bring me to my senses this time,_ Spock thought grimly. A bad day and the additional stress of this was compounding within him, clawing at his chest.

“So?” Pike asked, almost bouncing on his heels in front of him. “What do you think?”

Spock tried to speak at first, but his throat was dry. He had to swallow. “I apologize,” he excused himself, breaking into a cough. “Dust.”

“Really? Aw, hell,” Pike grunted as he stared up at the ceiling. “Thought there was something in place to remove all that.”

“Perhaps to a degree which is satisfactory for humans. But,” Spock added, clearing his throat. “It is adequate. Satisfactory. They will be able to analyze any previously undiscovered biological samples here, as well as anything geological or astral.”

“Damn right. This ship is gonna meet so many uncontacted species – undiscovered planets – they could write a _book_ after this mission. Jesus, if I wasn’t an Admiral.” Wistfully, Pike placed his hands on his hips, looked down at the floor, and then up at Spock. “Is my buttering up working yet?”

Spock was silent, staring at an instrument in thought. He jumped – _I didn’t do that before, since when I have become so jumpy –_ when he felt a hand on his back.

“I’ll let you wander around a little, okay? I’m going to check out some of the lower decks. I want to see what they have by way of crewmember recreation. Morale can make or break a ship, y’know.” Pike offered him a smile swollen with kindness. “You let me know if you need anything, okay? I know I’m being a pain in the ass about this, and you’re way too nice to tell me to fuck off. But I _really_ want you on this ship, Spock. It’s a travesty to keep you planetside for the rest of your life.”

His back was patted a few times before Pike exited the lab, and Spock stared down at the floor.

At his core, he agreed with the admiral. He wanted to be on this ship achingly badly, even if it meant continuing his new romantic relationship long-distance. Jim accepted that. Even if it meant taking the risk of watching her break up in space, rocketing away in pieces. That was the way of Starfleet – risk.

But, even accepting the danger, why was taking a risk so _difficult?_

He needed to walk.

He exited the science labs, his footsteps echoing on the metal flooring. Every so often, his knuckles would brush against the walls as he walked. They were cool. _You are fine. You are_ fine. He thought of Jim, warm Jim, warm and kind and thoroughly sleep against him, and Spock wondering if their next date would be an appropriate time to kiss him as a human would, because he had been planning on it, but Jim hadn’t initiated it and Spock wasn’t sure if now would be the right time, or …

Strangely enough, the line of thought soothed him. The relationship was lower stakes. Relaxing. Spock found himself on the bridge, staring at the chairs and stations there. Yes. There would be the Captain’s chair, various other seats. He wondered dimly where the chief science officer chair was, before – ah, yes, there would be it. The screens sprung to life and Spock saw the various pre-flight checks listed on screen. Exactly the same as the certification simulation, which felt so long ago.

He sat down in his chair, turning around to face the main viewscreen. Spock had occasionally heard Pike walking around in the corridors above or below him, but now, there was total silence. Only the faint humming of the Enterprise, her engines working at minimum capacity. Just enough to keep the lights on.

He could see himself doing this. Jim always spoke as if Spock was certainly going to join the crew, and Pike believed in him so much … perhaps he could do this.

That didn’t stop the ball of anxiety from forming in his stomach. Spock got up and continued to walk. The bridge wasn’t helping him. He needed to go somewhere lower.

At a certain point in the corridor, Spock stopped. In front of him was engineering, as he followed the pipes leading to the depths of the ship that controlled every sector on it. He was not an expert in it, but he knew enough of engineering to help when needed. No, the experts really had been T’Prak and Sorit, who had been bondmates, studied together in the Academy, had been placed on the _Theseus_ together. They had been the first Vulcans Spock had seen since leaving the planet. Including his father.

 _Spock had never felt anything from them before. That was logical; without physical touch, he could typically only feel intensely strong, once-in-a-lifetime emotions. However, as he ran to the engineering bay, he found that the blast doors had already shut. Fire raged from inside. Behind, Pike called him. His title. His_ name. _His name, again, and a plea to return to the escape pods, but he couldn’t, he could feel …_

_They were terrified. They were in pain. They were trapped._

_Spock had made it to the blast doors, and was quickly trying every passcode he could think of that would grant him the authority to access the engineering bay, because he couldn’t just let them stay there. They were going to die. They were absolutely certain of it._

_And suddenly, anguish, from one. Spock could not tell which, and figured it would be lost, until he saw a figure in the flames on the other side of the blast doors, approaching the window, and it was – yes, it was T’Prak, but she would never simply abandon her bondmate. Where was Sorit? Spock shook his head, irrelevant, irrelevant for now, and continued to try to open the blast doors, in vain, desperate, because it was hard to filter the terror he felt from the Vulcans from his own …_

Spock was on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading/kudos'ing/commenting! Another double feature this week, and here we pass the halfway point. It feels like ages ago when I started this fic, so it's crazy that we're halfway there. Thank you all, and I'll see you next Sunday! <3


	16. Check and Mate

His head hung between his knees, his hands clutched at his hair. Each of his breaths left him with a clawed gasp, escaping only when he felt he might pass out from lack of air. His lower body ached, as well as his forehead – had he hit it against his knees? It felt as if his skull was going to split open, and his eyes _burned._ He couldn’t – he _couldn’t –_

“Spock?”

The question, distant and echoed, just made him jerk, hard, to the side, breath forced out of his lungs. Pike. Pike was looking for him, although his voice was far away yet. He was close, but hadn’t seen him.

He had to get out of here. He had to – he had to get out. It was imperative. He had to _go._ Not. Not like this. He couldn’t be seen like this.

Irrationally, Spock stood and began to sprint. At first his feet slapped clumsily against the metal floors, before he managed to get traction. He had no positive goal in mind, at first, beyond getting off the Enterprise. Accomplishing that was fine enough, but the terror did not abate in his mind. It was done in seconds, but still Spock did not stop.

 _Irrational,_ his mind howled at him as his feet pounded against the smooth cement of the hangar, _Illogical. What are you doing?_

He heard footsteps. People. Others. He had to run. He ducked in a little hallway and continued to run, before realizing that he had hit a dead end. The only thing here was an old starship, though it was too dark to make out many details. He had to turn back around and –

“Sector 34C of Hangar Bay A?” He heard a grunt, far behind him at the entrance of the hallway he’d escaped to. “Loose wiring. Think we’ve got rats?”

“ _Jesus._ I hope we don’t have rats.”

The footsteps were approaching.

Spock stood at the end of the hallway, trying desperately to find a way back out into the main area. For one frantic, insane moment, Spock debated prying out the wall plating, but he didn’t want to _vandalize_ this hangar bay. Scaling the walls was also out of the question. Too dangerous.

Breath leaving him in loose gasps, still, Spock’s fractured mind left him with only one option.

He used the panel in front of the starship docking port to send out its entrance platform. After a few achingly long seconds, Spock sprinted onto it and nearly leapt into the shuttle bay. As soon as he was safely aboard the old starship, the entrance platform retreated and Spock let out a breath in relief. 

It was dark, and empty. And, finally, Spock was alone. He let his back hit the wall as he slid down into the floor, exhaling loudly. He set his forehead on his knees and willed himself to focus. Initially, he failed, only heaving dry sobs and feeling shame. This was not _Vulcan._ If he had been fully Vulcan, if he had been able to follow the principles and philosophies instilled into him at birth, perhaps he could be _better_ than this.

The Vulcan method for controlling emotions was taught at an early age. It was not always through traditional education (although Spock remembered learning the philosophy and additional principles quite often), but through the familial bond children shared with their parents.

Spock’s education had expanded beyond that simple, childlike explanation, but that was what he focused on, now. His mother’s old expressions, loud and clear, imprinted on his mind from hearing it a hundred, thousand times – _You’re perfectly safe, bug. You don’t need to cry. You don’t need to be scared. I’m here. Mother is here. I love you._

As a child, that had usually been enough. As an adult, the love of a mother still soothed him.

Eighteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds passed before Spock felt like he had the strength in his legs again. He couldn’t fight off the exhaustion thrumming through his body, though. He wanted to call Jim. He wanted to sleep.

He focused his hearing and heard nothing from outside. If the repairmen had been in this small alcove, they were no longer present. Spock pushed himself off the wall and made his way back towards the entrance. Surely Pike wouldn’t be too worried by then. The Enterprise was large enough that he could conceivably be missing for twenty minutes. 

This ship was an older model, though not ancient. It was clearly only intended for small, short-term missions. Basic warp and impulse engine functionalities. A singular crewmember lounge. He passed three ion pod arrays, though they had all been deployed. This ship was meant for poor astrometeorological phenomena.

Not uncommon. Dignitaries and special supplies and special reports still needed to be transported, even across parts of the galaxy that were not blessed enough to be still and quiet.

These ships were typically only several dozen people. High stress, certainly, but some of the greatest Admirals in Starfleet had started on these kinds of vessels. Admiral Pike had.

As he walked, he saw himself reflected in the shiny chrome of the corridor. There was something unusual on his face – patches of green on his cheeks (doubtlessly flushed, by now) and … in his right eye. Spock frowned, reached for his omnitool, and shone a light against the reflective corridor. There, it was obvious.

He had burst some blood vessels in his eye during his panic attack. He couldn’t find Pike like this, not when it would clearly show his weakness. Fixing his uniform and gently smoothing out his hair was simple, but he would need to find the medical bay on this ship … wherever it was.

“Computer?” Spock asked. The medical bay could be in a few separate locations on the ship.

He remembered his classes, with the students designing schematics for starships – there were several traditional locations to place a medical bay, each with its own strategic advantage. If the ship was primarily exploration-based, it was typically placed near the science research laboratories. Ships with a large family population typically had them near the residential deck. In wartime, they were placed near the transporter bay.

He didn’t think this ship was old enough to be used in war. He had several strategic guesses of where the medical bay was, but it was easier to ask the shipboard computer.

The computer didn’t respond. Unsurprising. The ship was likely in standby, unable to do much more than let people exit or enter. He could restart her on the bridge.

The bridge would be comparatively easy to find. The bridge location, no matter the starship, was generally predictable. _All roads,_ Jim had once teased as they walked along the bay of San Francisco, _Lead to the bridge._

Calmer, Spock started to walk towards the bridge. He had to be _calm_ about this entire event. If he rationalized it, then he could detach himself from it. The Enterprise could be an excellent teaching example in class. It really was an extraordinary ship, and no doubt cadets were hoping to be placed there upon their graduation. Even if it was statistically unlikely that they would be, they nonetheless would enjoy the relevance in class material.

One thing was for certain – the momentary hope Spock had had about being first officer on the _Enterprise_ had been dashed. He had broken down just _walking_ around it, after all. Spock didn’t let himself feel grief, or sadness, or self-hatred. Logical. He couldn’t do it. Someone else would.

He walked into the bridge, noting again that it was clearly meant for a very small crew. The Captain’s chair, the first officer’s chair, communications officer, security officer, navigator. Any science officers likely remained in their laboratory.

There was no dust anywhere, but that meant little. The ventilation system was still recycling air in and out of the ship. Still, the air tasted stale – it had not been outside in some time, recycling air from the dark, musty atmosphere of the hangar.

He sat in the Captain’s chair. The main console sprung to life, and Spock took the system off bypass.

The lights on the bridge came on, as well as the main viewscreen. All around him, the bridge beeped and rumbled to life. He also had a good view of the hangar bay hallway he had come down from, given the external viewports and floodlights. Good, empty.

“Computer,” Spock requested a second time, his fingers going to press against his injured eye. “Where is the location of the medical bay?”

The computer didn’t respond, again. Spock pursed his lips in frustration that was quickly squashed down, looking at the console.

There was a chess game on screen. The player was halfway through it, though not particularly doing well. No wonder, as Spock glanced at the computer’s difficulty – it was increased to max. Nobody had ever beaten a starship computer at maximum difficulty; it was theoretically impossible.

“Computer, disregard chess simulation.”

“Requesting Captain override passcode.”

The Captain of this vessel had been playing this game. Typically, the Captain console – and all actions on it – couldn’t be overridden by another crewmember. While that was usually meant for important tasks, like performance checks or communications, it extended all the way down to … chess games, apparently. Spock sighed in frustration.

The solution was clear enough. He’d lose the chess game and ask for directions. The computer would allow him to do that much, he was certain. There was _also_ the option of going into yellow or red alert to override the system, but that was unnecessary.

He played for some minutes, trading chess pieces with the shipboard computer. Spock knew the extent of his exemplary chess abilities, regardless that he had lost to Jim once – twice, now, actually, after last night. He dimly wondered if he would tell Jim the story of the day. No, he finally decided, Jim did not need to know it, and it would only make him wor –

He won. At maximum computer difficulty.

“Congratulations, Captain,” the Computer told him, cheerfully. “Would you like to reset the board?”

That was … unheard of. Spock blinked in confusion. “No, thank you. Where is the medical bay located on this vessel?”

“On the third deck, on the starboard side of the ship.”

“And the name of this vessel?”

“The USS _Republic_.”

Ah. He was sitting in Jim’s chair.

Understandable that this vessel was placed in this hangar bay, then. Perfectly functional, minus the ion pods, but its history rendered it somewhat unpalatable. Starfleet was not immune to being superstitious.

Spock leaned back in the Captain’s chair, his back flat against the cushion. Over a year ago, Jim had been sitting here, playing chess. He had heard the oncoming ion storm. Had, apparently, been here when he received word of Finney’s death. As for his contribution to such a death … Spock had seen the tape of the martial. There was little arguing about what had happened.

He looked around from the chair with a new curiosity, wondering – yes, there must’ve been where Uhura sat. That must’ve been where Sulu, the security officer from the court holotape, sat. And suddenly, the game of chess made more sense, now that he could imagine the crew in their places. He could picture it so clearly – a slow period of the ship, the Captain idly playing a logical game, and then the notification of an ion storm.

Sitting in the chair granted Spock no real insight into Jim’s innocence or guilt. Their relationship had only complicated the matter further. Jim proclaimed his innocence, and nothing in Jim’s demeanor suggested otherwise.

In the end, this changed nothing. The physical evidence, of Jim making the decision to send Finney to death, remained. He had seen Jim go to red alert _before_ giving the evacuation order.

Spock stood and made his way into the medical bay, reaching for one of the instruments to repair his eye. He found the ocular revitalizer, took the application patch, and strapped it around his eye firmly. It would take several minutes, and in doing so, granted Spock time to think.

The chess game stuck out to him, still. _Maximum_ shipboard difficulty. Not peculiar in itself, but … that was not _meant_ to happen. Spock had programmed starboard computers.

Perhaps it was a singular fluke. An odd glitch in the system. A set of played moves so statistically improbable that he had somehow bested a theoretically impossible system ( _but he was following an established strategy!)._ He supposed he had time, even though it had been nearly forty-five minutes since Pike had last seen him. Little to be done about that.

Spock pulled up another chess game on the nearby terminal, and played quickly and ruthlessly.

Spock won.

He played slowly, considering every advantage.

Spock won.

He played again, leaving several obvious weaknesses.

Spock won.

Eventually, after five won games, and his eye long since repaired, Spock sat back in his chair. The games always went the same – speeding towards an obvious defeat, before the computer simply appeared to fail, and play on a basically amateur level.

This wasn’t supposed to _happen._ There was something _wrong._ “Computer,” he asked again, curious. “Report last user to access system software.”

“Last system software modification implemented by Analyst Turath, at Starbase Omega. Routine inspection. Would you like a full list of system updates?”

“Unnecessary, Computer. Last user to access system hardware.”

“Last system hardware modification implemented by Commander Finney, on board the USS _Republic_.”

“What was modified?”

“A biocell was added to the safe-fail conduit by the ion pod,” the Computer chirped at him. “And physical starboard memory isolinear chip ID #4000074A was removed.”

A slow, dawning realization started to grow in Spock. A biocell, added to the conduit? Why would that be needed? “Computer. Where is the location of Commander Finney?”

“Commander Finney is located in Ion Pod B.”

Spock was up and running in that direction before he could stop himself. He had passed it earlier. Finney, as determined by nearly all parties, was blasted into pieces somewhere in space. If Ion Pod B was jettisoned, there was no Ion Pod B to be _located in._

He stopped in the corridor before the ion pods, facing the opposite wall. The safe-fail conduit was somewhere in the wiring for the ion pod hatch. He placed his hands on the plating there, pushed hard enough to hear groaning metal, and slid part of the wall to the side.

There, nestled between all the wires, was a home-made device. Unlike the polished, chrome-covered device like everything else on this ship, this seemed to be made of scraps. Had Finney raided the science laboratories for some of this?

“Computer,” Spock asked again, prying the home-made device from its home, “Analyze.” It was in the palm of his hand, scarcely reaching from the heel of his palm to the tip of his middle finger. There was a small emitter located in the middle of it.

The Computer fell silent. At first, Spock thought that it was simply running the device through all its scanners, but after a few moments, it returned an unknown error. Curious.

It didn’t matter. Spock personally had access to some of the most advanced labs on Earth, and he had a hypothesis for what the device was intended for. A biocell emitter, placed near Ion Pod B? Fascinating.

The device was slipped into his pocket. There were a few hours before he was meant to have dinner with Jim. He looked forward to it. He was planning to kiss him. Though that line of thought was pleasant before, he had something more important to worry about, now.

A few hours were more than enough time to get off this ship, find Pike, apologize for his behavior, and find out _what_ this device was, _who_ had planted it on the Republic and sabotaged the shipboard computer, and _how_ they did it.

And, most importantly, _why._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, I wanted to include the traditional reason (established in the TOS episode) why Spock figures something is wrong -- he's able to beat the shipboard computer at chess. It's an important part in the episode because it's one of the major turning points. Suddenly, the crew has a lot more to go on besides 'we trust that our captain wouldn't do this'. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, kudos'ing, or commenting! Means a lot, and you're all precious. <3 Have a good rest of your day, and I'll see you next Sunday!


	17. Take Up, Break Up

Jim had cleaned his apartment. It had desperately needed the attention. Although he never let his apartment deteriorate into biohazard conditions, he had to admit to himself that _maybe_ environment hygiene hadn’t been his highest priority. It didn’t help that the apartment itself wasn’t exactly sleek or modern to begin with, or that he barely spent any time here if he could help it.

He’d had to get rats out when he first moved in, as an indicator of the apartment’s quality. But, with a murder charge on his record, landlords weren’t exactly lining up to have him as a tenant. This landlord was decent, though. A good guy. Once he realized that Jim wasn’t going to continue his homicidal rampage in his living room, and that he actually helped out the other tenants when they needed it, he stopped giving Jim a hard time.

Spock was coming over, though. And while it could never get to the high standards of cleanliness that his boyfriend kept his apartment, Jim could get close.

Also, Spock was coming over and he was fucking _thrilled_ to see his boyfriend again, even if he’d just seen him that morning.

After Spock had put a blanket over him and woken him up to the smell of breakfast a few dates ago, Jim realized that it’d been the most domestic, sweet thing he’d ever experienced.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he polished the wooden floors. He’d actually kept up with shaving lately. He hadn’t hit the bottle in a long while either (at least, not to the point where he was sloppy drunk). Hell, he’d even hit the gym a few times. Even on days where he didn’t see Spock, he tried to keep himself productive and healthy.

The trial hadn’t even entered his mind, and that was how Jim kept himself happy. _Maybe,_ Jim had started to optimistically tell himself, _this is the next chapter in your life. Maybe one day you’ll wake up and realize you haven’t thought about being discharged in weeks._

He had tried to put up a few decorations, even. Jo had given him Petunia The Drawing For Keeps Please Don’t Throw It Away Mr. Kirk, and it was proudly framed against his wall. Other than that, it was just a few things, schematics and exotic planets, that he’d replicated earlier that week. It _almost_ looked like a home.

He’d made lentil stew and falafel. Spock never seemed to like anything with a lot of spices or seasoning, so he’d had to omit a lot from both recipes, and the falafel looked … a little squishy. He’d put a sprig of parsley on the side of the plate to liven it up a little.

Twenty minutes. Okay. Jim sighed, sitting himself on the edge of the coffee table. He didn’t know why he felt so nervous, still – he’d been on plenty of dates with Spock (and they were moving at a snail’s pace, which suited Jim just fine, because he didn’t have a lot else going on if he was being honest) _and_ it wasn’t like he was shy in romance or sex.

Still, when the twenty minutes passed way too fast, and Jim heard a knock on the door, he jumped off the table as if he’d been struck.

He raised his middle and index finger before opening the door. It was how he’d taken to greeting Spock these days. Jim knew the ball was probably in his court to kiss him in the human fashion. He wasn’t sure why he’d delayed – shock, probably, at Spock continuing to stick around so long. Boyish nervousness. Even _that_ feeling made Jim happy. He had something to be adorably, irrationally nervous about.

They hadn’t brought up the trial, or the entire incident, since their first date. Jim liked keeping it that way, too, because frankly it was nice for someone else to notice that the trial wasn’t _all_ that he was. It was good, to have something in his life that didn’t revolve around the worst moment in his life.

“Hey,” he greeted warmly as he opened the door, extending his fingers out to see him. “You look good.”

Spock stood in front of the door. He always looked good. There was never a hair out of place on him. Mechanically, Spock raised his fingers to brush against Jim’s, but Jim noticed that there was something off about his face, It was hard to note exactly, but he seemed like –

With purpose, Spock stepped forward, folded his fingers around the back of Jim’s skull, and kissed him.

_Holy shit._

Jim felt his body tense a moment, shocked. _Was this a dream? Did I get drunk and black out?_ Sure, he _did_ jack off in the shower or before he fell asleep when he thought about Spock, but that was different. Wet dreams didn’t even come anywhere close to this.

He felt Spock’s tongue against his lips and Jim parted his in response. Spock’s fingertips curled around the edges of his jaw to hold him close. Jim’s hands went to Spock’s sides, grasping him and keeping him rooted to the spot, before he figured, _what the hell,_ and slipped them underneath Spock’s shirt.

Spock was putting more pressure on him, then, making Jim lean back. He realized in a split-second that his door was still open behind him, and the thought that someone could _see_ Spock, that Spock didn’t _care_ if he was seen, was probably the hottest thing he’d been able to dream up so far. Spock’s hand fumbled backwards for the door, pulling it shut.

He pushed up Spock’s shirt, his hands travelling up and down Spock’s front. His skin was pleasant to the touch, and Jim had a feeling from the way Spock pressed himself into Jim that he was pleasantly warm. As he ran his hands down Spock’s stomach, Jim let out a noise of pleasure. _Jesus, I always thought Vulcans would be hairless._ Spock had coarse hair over his front, and Jim hadn’t thought _that_ would be the case, but that was welcome nonetheless, as he pushed his tongue further into Spock’s mouth.

The groan that Spock let out seemed to have a direct number to Jim’s groin, and his cock swelled against his boxers. It had been a fucking _while_ since he’d gotten laid, so God knew it hadn’t taken much _._ He’d been hard in front of Spock before, he remembered popping a pretty embarrassing boner when they were watching a holovid together, but he’d never been hard against Spock while pressed flush with his hips.

This time, though, Jim wasn’t embarrassed about it at all. After all, Spock had been hard since his tongue had slid into his mouth.

 _Dinner can wait,_ Jim told himself, because he had no idea _why_ Spock had started it, but he was definitely going to enjoy himself. He raised his arms on either side of Spock’s chest, pushing Spock’s shirt up and meeting the junction of his torso and his arms.

Shit, he had to break the kiss long enough to get his shirt over his head. Jim pulled back and pushed up again, before Spock … leaned away. Disappointment overcame him, even as Spock removed his hands from his face and instead placed them over Jim’s forearms, a polite rejection.

“We have to talk, first.”

Jim’s monkey brain only focused on the _first_ part of that sentence – that meant there was going to be a _second,_ and honestly, damn dinner. Spock was dinner and more appealing than soggy falafel any day.

“Yeah. Yeah, uh.” Jim took a step back, smoothing Spock’s shirt out. It was still untucked, but tucking it back into his pants for him seemed condescending at best. And … great, Spock had lost his hard-on already. That was some impressive muscle control. “About what? By the way, that was good?”

“Sit.”

 _Shit._ Dread filled Jim, enough that all thoughts of arousal left his body and mind. His first conclusion was that Spock was breaking up with him, but that would be ridiculous. Not breaking up with him, that would probably be a smart move on Spock’s part, but Spock wouldn’t make out with him and then break up. That’d be cruel, and Spock wasn’t cruel. Hardass, maybe. But not cruel.

Had someone died? Spock hadn’t talked about his family, ever. Maybe Starfleet had found out and was trying to chew him out for dating a known murderer. Oh, _god,_ maybe he’d been harassed by the media.

Regardless, he went to go take a seat on his couch. Spock paused. There was nowhere else to sit that wasn’t directly beside Jim. Eventually, he sat down on the freshly-cleaned coffee table, across from Jim. Jim looked up into his eyes, trying to decipher and getting nothing.

“I want to discuss a few aspects of your trial.”

“That’s probably the least arousing thing you’ve ever said.” Jim sighed, his head dropping to his chest. He felt _more_ annoyed than usual about it, because thirty seconds ago he’d been happily making out with his boyfriend. “Can’t we just have a date, Spock? Come on, you’ve seen the holotapes. Don’t know what else you want.” Jim slumped back on the couch, starting to slouch.

“This is important, Jim. I investigated the _USS Republic,_ and – “

Jim snapped back to attention, a searing knife of panic entering his body. _What? No no no no no._

“You _what?”_

Jim had never considered himself hot-headed, even if some others would disagree. Impulsive, maybe, yeah, but not _aggressively_ so. He had to admit, even to himself, that he had … changed, somewhat, during and since the trial. So many of his flaws, imagined and actual, had been pointed out during it, to the delight of the general public. The great son of George Kirk, actually a shitty psychopath, and they were so _smug_ about it.

He knew Spock wouldn’t be like that. He _knew._ But the idea of Spock becoming intertwined in this, when he was the one non-shitty part of his life that had nothing to do with that goddamn courtroom and goddamn Commander Finney …

It hurt.

“I _told_ you to stay out of this, Spock. I didn’t want you involved. Why the fuck would you think –” Jim knew he was spiraling. He was good at that, sinking somewhere he couldn’t get back from. And look, Ma, he was even ruining his life while _sober!_ “What, did you want to solve this fucking mystery for yourself? Is that all I am to you? Fucking heads up, Spock, there’s no goddamn mystery in the eyes of the fucking Federation. It’s fucking done with. I wanted you to leave it _alone._ ”

“Jim. Would you _listen?”_ Spock was unamused, and his face hardened into a glare as Jim jumped up from the couch. He reached out to brush his fingers against Jim’s thigh, and Jim almost tripped with how hard he yanked his leg away.

“And listen, what? How you found it just so goddamn fascinating to walk around my old ship?”

“I found something.”

“I don’t care if you found a signed letter from Finney himself saying I didn’t do it.” Bringing up Finn hurt, but it came out anyway. They’d been friends, once. Jim felt his chest tightening. He wasn’t sure if it was panic or anger, then. It was just so easy to be angry. “I know you’ve never believed that I didn’t do it. That why you decided to go with me, huh? Wanted to get your own fucking insight into the fall of the Starfleet poster boy by getting into his pants?”

Spock fell silent at that, looking down at the coffee table. He didn’t argue back, didn’t say a word, but Jim had said plenty for him. Jim knew he was being unfair, cruel, but he couldn’t stop himself.

That Spock was being unreactive was pissing him off even further. Usually, he liked that Spock was laid back, thoughtful – now, Jim wanted to fucking fight. 

Standing up, Jim towered over him and he glared down at him, his limbs trembling with anger.

 _Calm down. Calm the fuck down. It’s Spock. Spock wouldn’t do anything just to hurt you, just for his own benefit,_ the rational voice inside of him pleaded, but that voice was overwhelmed with nearly a year of alcohol abuse, isolation, and injustice.

“Get the fuck out.”

“What?”

“I told you. In the hospital. I told you to stop fucking investigating it. That I wanted to move on. And you did it anyway.I was almost fucking _over_ it, Spock.”

“Jim, I –”

“I don’t want to fucking hear it. Get the _fuck_ out.” Jim had an urge to pull Spock up, to push him towards the door himself, but even if he was furious … it shocked and disgusted him that the thought even entered his mind. To stop himself, he crossed his arms over his chest.

Spock looked heartbroken, the mask slipping from his face. He didn’t move off the table, but the eyes that looked back up at him contained uncontrolled emotion. He looked vulnerable.

Jim didn’t soften from his glare.

Slowly, Spock stood up from the table. He tucked in his shirt back into his pants, taking his time to do so, before he cast one last look to Jim. When he received no further input, Spock went to the door.

The flat was filled with uncomfortable, tense silence. Jim’s eyes were glued to Spock’s back. _Just the same shitty chapter in your shitty story,_ Jim told himself, already sinking into the depths of self-pity and self-hatred.

Everything hurt. Everything was terrible, and nothing was okay.

He heard the door shut behind Spock as he sank onto the couch. Leaning forward, Jim tried to summon the anger – at least the anger wouldn’t make him feel so bad.

Minutes passed, and Jim failed. He was alone. It was harder to be angry when he was alone.

Now, with Spock gone, Jim couldn’t summon it anymore. Instead, he felt lonely. Miserable. Suddenly, every shitty moment of the trial came back to him, every moment where he wondered if he’d gone insane, if he really had killed his best friend and just _forgot._

Yeah, maybe Spock gone against what he asked, but compared to everything else that had happened in the past few years … Spock had been the best thing in his life. Spock had been understanding, and sweet, and Jim couldn’t keep his damn mouth under control for twenty consecutive _fucking_ seconds.

He leaned forward, pressed his face into his hands, and started to sob.

-

Spock had walked for a long time.

Ironically, he felt numb, even if hours prior his heart had been viscerally ripped from his chest. _Poetic._ He could not remember the last time he had felt numb; likely when his father had refused his communications for the dozenth time. Vulcans did not often feel that way, completely devoid of emotion. They suffered from too much emotion, not nothing, but now … Spock knew that, as long as he walked, he would not have to feel anything.

He knew that Jim had been in the wrong, there. Jim had overreacted. That was not unusual. Jim was passionate and expressive, and there was a dark side to those qualities. Then again, Spock supposed he could have found a more tactful way to start the conversation.

Jim had been through hell. And he had been so kind, so gentle, with Spock’s own trauma … he should have been less blunt.

It did not matter, now. That was gone. He and Jim were over. It would not do to dwell on it.

But the matter of the _Republic_ was not. Even if Jim was no longer his partner, Spock was almost certain that the incident on the _Republic_ went deeper than the initial investigation would suggest. And he would continue to search for justice, even with no personal tie to Jim.

He found himself in front of Pike’s door at two in the morning.

It was better than returning home. He knocked for a few moments until the security system triggered. Pike’s security system was exhaustive, as was Spock’s own. That the Theseus had started to break apart at two in the morning, when both of them were off-shift, was a likely correlate. Spock did not feel comfortable without the potential for alarms to wake him.

“What happened.” Pike’s voice was grave as he opened the door, standing still in wrinkled pajamas and an unshaved face.

“May I come in?” Spock returned politely.

“Spock, _what happened.”_ Pike repeated the question with urgency. Nonetheless, he stepped to the side and allowed Spock in.

There was a split-second where Spock considered how much to tell him. The entirety and depth of his relationship with Jim? The panic attack he had had, which led to him finding the _Republic?_ All of his strategies he’d used to beat the computer in chess? Finally, he decided on what he should have led with, with Jim.

Perhaps Jim would’ve listened to him, if he had.

“The shipboard computer on the _USS_ Republic was intentionally and illegally altered, corrupting and fabricating certain portions of its memory. A small bioemitter was placed in the internal conduits, falsely transmitting Commander Finney’s biological signature.”

Pike just blinked at him, slowly, his brain trying to catch up with everything. Spock wondered if Jim would have given him the same look if Spock had started with that. Probably not. It seemed as if any mention of that time upset him, still.

“Alright, just, _you_ stay there,” Pike grunted, standing from his spot. “I’m gonna go get a drink and hope I find the answer to what the hell you just said in the bottom. You want something?”

Spock declined politely. After a half-minute, Pike returned with a measure of whiskey. “Okay. Give me your report, Commander.”

There was something reassuring about that. Spock knew he still somewhat deferred to Pike’s judgement, even if he was no longer his first officer. That was, partially, why refusing the Enterprise suggestion had been so difficult. Refusing Pike at all was difficult.

“The shipboard computer has been altered, reducing its memory capabilities. In that state, it would be possible to alter its videobanks to contain any external source. The biosensor also implies intentional misconduct.”

“You think someone tried to frame Jim?”

“It is a hypothesis. I request a full analysis to be run on the ship computer, as well as a physical investigation of the ship itself.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds about right. You and I can … before we go off accusing anybody, you and I can do that, tomorrow. I have access. Damn,” Pike muttered in amazement. “Should we bring Jim? Have you told him about this?”

He had, indeed. And what would have been a fulfilling night of their first coupling had turned into … a fight.

The numbness started to dissipate as Spock realized that, in all likelihood, he was no longer romantically associated with Jim. He doubted the man would want to repair it, if he now just associated Spock with the rest of the trauma of his trial. He was a past chapter in his life, just like everything else, now.

“Yes,” Spock responded truthfully, “He does not want to assist.”

“He reacted that bad, huh?”

Spock could only nod.

“You sure? I mean, how bad?”

It weighed heavily on Spock’s mind as he sat forward on the couch. In front of him, Pike’s face fell. “It is my understanding that we are no longer romantically associated with one another. He became angry at the mention of my investigation, and ordered me from his home.”

“Hell.” Pike stood up from the couch with a grunt, shuffling over. Spock raised an eyebrow at him curiously. He sat himself down next to Spock. Spock recalled him doing the same some time ago, after a ship had blown up, after Spock had quietly admitted that he had put himself (and by proxy, Pike) in danger, after Spock had hung his head and tried not to cry in front of him about the death of his fellow species. And, just like then, Pike’s hand traversed up and down Spock’s back, as Spock used every technique he knew to hold back the tears. “I’m sorry, Spock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ! Poor Spock and Jim.   
> Here, I think that one of the previous chapters comes back into play -- Jim relying too heavily on the relationship to make him forget about what happened during the trial. While Jim does have some rational reason to be upset (he did ask Spock not to investigate into his case more, after all), he definitely overreacts here, partly due to the trauma, partly because he views this as a betrayal ... which, you can imagine, he's very sensitive about.   
> So, Spock gets broken up with. It's very interesting, because he still has this professional duty to see justice played out, but his plan just got wildly disrupted by Jim's unwillingness to help so he goes back to speak with his former commanding officer for advice.   
> Spock and Pike's relationship is something I also enjoy exploring. Pike pushes him (definitely too much, in certain cases) - both because of just who Pike is as a person and mentor, and because Spock's lack of emotional expression means that Pike simply doesn't know the depth of how the trauma is impacting him. He knows it is, especially given Spock's reaction during the certification exam, but I don't think Spock's ever quite told anyone how much - closest person being Jim. Still, I think at his core, Pike is a person who deeply cares about his crew and can see what they're capable of, and it breaks his heart not to see them reaching their fullest potential. He's also experienced the same thing Spock has: the destruction of his previous ship, the Theseus, and most of his crew.
> 
> I definitely got off to rambling here! Either way, thank you to everyone who's read/kudos'ed/commented, I read every one and appreciate them deeply. <3 Have a good week!


	18. The Penny Drops

“Whew. This feels like a tin can compared to the Theseus,” Pike remarked as they came onto the vessel, whistling in surprise. The schematics were still familiar to Spock, and so he led them both down the corridors. The _Republic_ was designed to be compact, causing Pike’s head to nearly brush the top of the ceiling as he walked. “He was a first time Captain, though. They try not to give first time Captains hundreds of lives to look out for until their _second_ go, at least.”

There was a lightcube over his shoulder, a bright illuminating ball encased in glass. Its tracker was clipped to the Admiral’s collar as it hovered around him, throwing shadows around the corridor. Together, their footfalls echoed around the hall, and yet, Spock could not feel like they were truly alone.

Spock was initially apprehensive that Pike did, indeed, want to follow him around the _Republic_ as they investigated. The ship was not strictly large enough to split up (not practically, regardless), and that meant Pike kept a close watch on his back the entire time. They had already copied the code and changelog for the shipboard computer, one of their first tasks upon boarding. Spock hypothesized he had a long few weeks of analyzing it, but the burden did not dismay him.

This felt … useful. Practical. It distracted him from the thoughts about not meeting with Jim again. Potentially not _seeing_ Jim again. If he kept busy, he felt more Vulcan. If he felt more Vulcan, he would not experience heartbreak.

“We should probably search the Jefferies tubes,” Pike added, filling the silence, and he paused to turn at him. Pike did not seem to mind Spock’s solemnity, for which he was grateful. “Yeah, don’t give me that look, I know they’re strictly emergency walkways. Doesn’t stop crewmembers from making little hideaways there where they don’t have to see anyone. Bet you dollars to donuts the first officer had one to get away. They would’ve searched through those tubes right after the ion pod was jettisoned, but they were looking for a live body then, not anything that could help the case.”

“That is against their intended purpose,” Spock criticized. “It could be a fire hazard on the ship if leisure materials obstruct the tube.”

“Heh. You’ve been off a starship too long, Spock. Sometimes, and _especially_ when you’re bridge crew, you realize you have to let a few rules slide to keep ship morale up. That’s why any Captain worth their spit doesn’t mind, as long as they’re not obnoxious. You’ll see, when you get aboard the _Enterprise_.”

“I don’t recall accepting your offer yet, Admiral,” Spock responded wryly. The termination of a relationship _and_ Pike was bringing up the _Enterprise_ again.

Joy. It was shaping up to be a good day.

Conversely, Spock was never more tempted to take his offer. He knew it was illogical – Jim was one man in this city among millions – but there was an innate, instinctual urge to get as far away as possible, to forget that he messily entangled himself here at all.

Still, panicking on the corridors of the _Enterprise_ was fresh on his mind. That was why they were here, after all. It was best to change the topic entirely, so Spock did not have to think of nacelles and liftoffs and captains.

“Did you have a … hide-away, Admiral?” Spock asked politely.

As they went through a darkened corridor, Pike stopped in front of a tube and yanked the hatch open. Above, a yawning darkness loomed. A few emergency lights, few and far between, lit their way. Pike didn’t hesitate as he started to climb first. “ _Everyone_ on the bridge crew did. Except you, I guess. I was always able to be contacted, don’t give me that look.”

“What is the purpose? You had your quarters.”

“Sometimes, Spock, it’s just really nice to be somewhere nobody knows where you are.”

Spock could not entirely understand (this seemed to be, at a minimum, irresponsible), but they climbed through the tube anyway. He wondered how many hide-aways had been destroyed in the _Theseus._ He wondered if the two Vulcan engineers had had one. He doubted it.

Together, they climbed through seventeen different Jefferies tubes aboard the _Theseus_. They found certain ‘hideaways’, as Pike had described them, but nothing that corresponded to First Officer Finney. They only contained refuse (replicated junk food bags, long-since-dead PADDs, liquor bottles), nothing of interest. Spock could see that Pike’s knees were beginning to give him trouble from the way he grunted and winced. Although some were mercifully tall enough to stand in, many tubes required crawling on hands and knees. Others still, like the first, required a ladder to climb through. 

“This place must be half fucking Jefferies tubes,” Pike grunted in pain as they explored through yet another. Spock had the ship diagrams up on a holopad in his hand, looking for the next one.

“The _USS Republic_ was designed for easy maneuverability within the ship. Theoretically, it would be possible to reach any compartment from any other compartment, even if the ship is unpowered.”

“If the ship is unpowered, life support is _off._ You’re dead anyway.”

“It is all theoretical, Admiral. Would you like me to explore the last Jefferies tube on my own?”

“No, no. I’m fine.” Pike leaned back up and brushed off his knees. One wobbled, almost giving out under him, before he straightened up. “I don’t know. Maybe I was wrong, Spock. Finney was good friends with Jim. Maybe he just hid in Jim’s quarters whenever he wanted alone time. Maybe we found all the clues we’re gonna get.”

“Had you ever met Commander Finney?”

“Sure, back before they were even on a starship. Those kids were close. Like chocolate and peanut butter. They got into a lot of trouble, too.” Pike seemed content to reminisce. “Finney was from a small town, too, came from a rough background. They bonded over that. They got into a shit ton of trouble in the Academy. I think, when Finney ended up getting married, it matured both of ‘em a lot. Jim was best man at the wedding. I was invited, went. I got photos.”

“And the child was named after him.”

“Yeah. Like I said, they were close. Jim, uh.” Pike had to hide a smile. “Called me, two in the goddamn morning when Jamie was born, letting me know. He got through the name and started to tear up. It meant a lot to him.”

“He has not kept in contact with her.”

“I don’t think so. Finney’s family pretty much … well. Pretty much condemned him, after the trial, from what I understand.”

Spock was curious, then. This still didn’t seem to line up with what he had heard previously. It did not appear that Pike had heard the holotapes played at Jim’s trial. “At the trial, they played evidence that implied Finney did not hold Jim in high opinion.”

“What, because Jim cost him the stupid promotion? Finney fucked up. Jim did the right thing.” There was a certain edge to Pike’s face. “Finney was a good man. He’d get that. Look, if we’re thinking that maybe the tape of Jim pressing the red alert button is faked because of the ship memory, then maybe those were faked, too. Hell, maybe it’s a huge goddamn conspiracy.”

“Do you believe someone in Starfleet would conduct something like that?”

“Spock, you know as well as I do that Starfleet isn’t always a good guy. It stands for ideals. But the thing about ideals is that, well …” Pike’s footsteps echoed along the corridor. “You can’t reach ‘em. You just try to. And sometimes, people don’t even try.”

Spock thought on that. This was one of the larger Jefferies tubes, with a walkway suspended in the horizontal metal cylinder. He was ready to admit that perhaps this one was also entirely empty, before – ah. “Admiral.”

“You see something – oh. I see it. Good catch, Commander.”

One of the metal platings in the corridor was hanging loose by a half-inch, like a crooked picture frame. “Inspect,” Pike whispered softly next to him, and the lightcube floated over to examine.

In theory, it could have been nothing. Starships had imperfections like any other ship, and a year in disuse could certainly have dislodged an already-loose panel. Still, Spock leaned over the railing and pried it off the wall entirely. It fell to the bottom of the Jefferies tube with a clatter.

There was a hole in the wall. Difficult to enter, it would require climbing over the railing and pulling oneself a few inches onto the exterior cylindrical tube. They were close to the external hull of the ship.

“You know when I said that everyone has hideaways?” Pike asked in awe. “I meant a lawn chair at the end of a corridor. This is a little much.”

“Commander Finney had experience with engineering.” Grunting with effort, Spock put one foot on the railing and pushed himself up and into the crawlspace. It would be barely large enough for a human. Inside, Spock only saw blackness, though it clearly extended for some way still.

He doubted Jim, even if he had been here, would be able to fit. Broad shoulders. “Are you coming, Admiral?”

There was a hesitation.

“Admiral?”

“It’s a little close-quarters, isn’t it?”

At first, Spock instinctively supposed the problem was with _his_ presence. He wondered whether he should express offense, before he remembered that Pike had been alone in a nearly-empty starship, before clawing his away through Jefferies tubes to reach a troublesome first officer who had risked his life futilely trying to save two Vulcans in Engineering.

He was not sure what part of this was upsetting him, precisely, but Spock did not press. Pike had his trauma, as did Spock. Instead, he crawled further into the crawlspace before he heard Pike curse and climb into the small opening behind him.

They moved so far in the crawlspace that Spock could not reasonably be certain where they were on the ship anymore. Somewhere near the cargobay. Eventually, Spock felt a gust of cold, recently recycled air. They were nearing the end of the tunnel.

“So,” Pike recalled, his voice shaky with exertion. “Enterprise leaves port in five months, now.”

“ _Admiral,”_ Spock started. His voice echoed through the compartment. A crawl space no more than twenty inches across was not where Spock wanted to have this conversation. At least Spock could see ahead into the tunnel, Pike’s view was squarely of his bottom half. “Is this an appropriate setting?”

“What, you busy? I just think you’d be a fine first officer.”

“You have _stated.”_ Spock could not help but allow for a ribbon of irritation to weave through his voice, and he knew Pike noticed. “It would not be a wise decision.”

“But do you want to?”

“That is irrelevant.”

“Bullshit, it’s irrelevant. Look, you might’ve uncovered a gigantic conspiracy to frame a man for murder. You were a fine first science officer. What happened on the _Theseus_ wasn’t your fault, like I’ve said a thousand times. A million.”

Initially, he was not going to mention it. It felt humiliating. But perhaps, if the Admiral knew, then the Admiral would leave him alone about it. Every time Pike brought up the _Enterprise,_ he was reminded and it _hurt._ “A first officer is required to walk through the corridors of their ship _without_ being debilitated from panic.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I only boarded the _Republic_ after I fled from the Enterprise. I could not breathe. I did not want you to see me in such a way. I hid here.”

“ _Spock.”_ Pike’s voice was worried. Deeply. “My God. I had no idea. I’m so sorry. What set it off over there?”

“I remembered.” Vulcan memories were historically exceptional, and being able to recall almost perfectly had not helped. “I was near Engineering. I remembered the Vulcans. I was near the impact-seal doors, and … ” Spock drifted off. “I was unable to cope.”

For the first time in his entire life, Pike went silent.

For a few minutes, anyway.

“You know. I never apologized to you about being a dickhead in the escape pod. Way, way back.” Spock was suddenly very grateful that the Admiral was four feet behind him, and he could not see his face. He could not escape from this conversation, though. “I’m sorry, Spock. I was furious that you were risking your life instead of getting to safety like I ordered. I was so damn scared you’d be lost with most of the ship. I was devastated about losing her. That doesn’t excuse me, how I acted, and I _am_ sorry.”

Spock remembered the escape pod, how tense everything had been, and how he’d had the final, transient burst of hope shot dead in his chest when he saw the _Theseus_ fully disintegrate.

He was too shell-shocked by the apology to say anything, at first. If he had more of a voice, he did not think he would have been pleasant, either. Scratchy and emotional and _non-Vulcan._ Still, one thing was clear: he still trusted the Admiral implicitly, as the Admiral clearly trusted him.

“I forgive you, Admiral.”

Spock did not need to look behind him to know that he was smiling.

“Great. Now that I’m back in your good graces –”

Spock huffed a sigh.

“I wanna suggest therapy.”

 _Not_ the Enterprise? Although it was a welcome change, it was still not an entirely pleasing topic. “Vulcans do not go to therapy. We are self-regulating with our emotions.”

“Yeah, but first of all, you’re half-Vulcan, and second, everyone can use a little therapy. Spock, you lost your home on the _Theseus_. And, I mean, even putting the Enterprise aside – you panicked just stepping on board another starship.”

“That was an internal fault of mine.”

“Son, no it wasn’t.’”

Pike’s tone was caring but a little frustrated. Spock fell silent.

“You reacting how you’re reacting isn’t your fault. Assigning fault in a case like this is bullshit. What you need to think about is recovery.”

“And you believe therapy would assist.”

“ _I’m_ in therapy.”

“You are?” Spock blinked several times. Pike was traditionally masculine. Although he talked about his emotions to Spock more than Spock would really enjoy, he hadn’t expected that Pike would go to therapy.

“Yeah. Antidepressants, too. I don’t know if they work the same for Vulcans, but, hey. Worth a try.” Pike’s fingers brushed the bottom of Spock’s boot; he had caught up to him easily. “Give it a shot, see what happens.”

Spock wanted to argue that the therapist likely wouldn’t be versed in Vulcan emotional health. He was not an oversharer even with his dearest friends. He could not see the benefit. It would end in failure.

But Starfleet, and the _Theseus_ , had been the first place where Spock had felt comfortable.

The second had been with Jim, but that was irrelevant. That was over.

There was little to lose.

“I will try,” Spock promised.

They reached the end of the crawlspace, where a small gap in the floor opened into an open chamber. Spock pulled himself first, lowering himself carefully on the floor a few feet down. He was so stunned with what he saw that Pike nearly landed on him.

There were papers making a makeshift wallpaper in the room. Papers pinned up everywhere, messy scrawls, a half-rumpled cot. Various mechanical parts littered the floor; Spock saw a few prototype bioemitters strewn around. Empty bottles of alcohol made the entire chamber smell faintly of mold and mildew. There were some photos that Spock recognized of Finney’s family, others of various starship diagrams, others still of star systems.

What was most concerning were the pictures of Jim.

In comparison to the rest of the exceedingly messy chamber, there weren’t that many. In comparison to how many photos of Jim should normally be in a room, there were far, far too much. The ones that were placed up on the wall there were defaced, usually with red ‘X’s over Jim’s bright blue eyes. One photo of him, smiling and in formal uniform, had been used as a dartboard.

In the middle of all the pinned objects, over all the document reports, over all the half-illegible scrawlings, were five large words, written determinedly with what appeared to be red paint. It took over the entire wall of the small room.

And somehow, the simple sentence made everything slide into place.

_I WILL BE THE PRODIGAL._

“He was off his rocker,” Pike echoed Spock’s thoughts, his hand covering his mouth.

He hadn’t expected this. This … crawlspace. Spock tried to consolidate everything he had heard of Finney in his head – an old friend of Jim’s, a first officer that Jim had trusted implicitly, the man who had harbored a grudge against him for years, and now … _this_ was more than a grudge. This was a cause a man was willing to die for. He had not expected this.

“Or intoxicated,” Spock tried in an illogical defense of the man, stepping forward in the mess and letting his fingers stroke against the wall. “Or simply very passionate. Humans can become so radicalized that their beliefs are indeterminable from nonsensicality.”

“Spock, we need to – “ Pike cut himself off, still flabbergasted. “We need to investigate this. Oh my God.”

Spock went through the papers, trying to find a theory. Was the man who had set Jim up Finney himself? Would Finney have chosen to kill himself to ruin Kirk’s career?

But, Prodigal …

“The Prodigal son. It’s an old story. Biblical.” Pike muttered as Spock started to organize. That most of the papers were physical tree-based copies indicated, at least, some forethought. Anything technical, on a PADD, could be tracked. If he managed to build a device that physically printed out what he would like, then there would be no, ironically enough, paper trail. Spock spied a printer, clearly makeshift, in the corner. “Basically, a punk leaves town, everyone thinks he’s dead, he comes back after a while to his father, who forgives him and lets him back into the family.”

They made the connection at the same time.

Spock leaned up from the table and made eye contact with Pike. Pike read his mind. “You think Finney’s still alive somewhere.”

“Do you not?”

“It’s crazy. It’s a crazy theory. I think –” Pike grunted, rubbing the side of his face in thought. “I think, at the maximum, he _planned_ to stay alive, but Jesus, how would a guy –”

“The fake bioemitter would indicate that he perished in the ion pod. The Jefferies tubes would allow him to quickly and discreetly go anywhere in the ship. The _USS Republic_ would have docked at a Federation starbase to begin its investigation.”

For a second, Spock froze when he considered one irrational theory – _was Finney still aboard the ship?_ He felt a phantasmal pair of eyes on him, wondering if he’d been watched the entire time, before he dismissed the thought immediately. It had been more than a year. Finney would never have remained aboard the ship for that long, if only because he’d starve.

“If the _USS Republic_ got to a Federation starbase, he could’ve picked up a transport shuttle going anywhere. But he’d have to show his Starfleet identification to get on any sort of shuttle. He’d need papers.”

“Yes, which Caligula Davis has.”

Spock picked up a plastic card lying on the desk and showed it to Pike. On it were several identifying details, an altered photo of Finney, and a name – _CALIGULA DAVIS._

Pike gawped at him. “The Roman emperor who succeeded Tiberius,” Spock prompted by way of explanation. “A Terran archaeologist determined in 2213 that, in Tiberius’ final days, Caligula smothered him with his bedding to obtain the position.”

In horror, Pike moved to stand by him and inspected the documents. He sorted through the paperwork on the desk – there were at least three copies here, easily digitized and inserted into a fictional Starfleet crewmembers’ file. Caligula Davis was a security officer.

It felt surreal. What had once started as a perhaps irrational, emotional belief that a man he admired as much as he did Jim could not have done such a thing … now had a logical basis. For the first time, Spock considered that Jim was truly, actually innocent of any wrongdoing at all.

“I’ll be damned,” Pike murmured. “I don’t think the kid did it.”

Spock removed his bag, starting to gather the relevant documents and place them there. It was time for Starfleet to get involved with this investigation. The sheer amount they had to analyze was going to become overwhelming, but something was more important – _they had proof._ This could be enough to completely clear Jim’s name, to restore his position, and Spock knew that Pike saw that, too.

He considered telling Jim, remembered their fight, and decided against it. He would do this as a pursuit of justice. Jim deserved that, more than any gift Spock could ever give him.

“We have to find the starbase shuttle travel logs immediately, and find where Commander Finney traveled to.” Spock commanded, standing on the tips of his toes to reach the crawlspace they had entered from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaahhhhh title drop aaaaaahhhhhh
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read, kudos'ed, or commented! It's strange to think that there's ten chapters left of this (or that it started in June!). But I really appreciate everyone who's stuck with it this far. Everything's coming together - here, we see Finney doesn't exactly have a dissimilar motive than he does in the original episode (though it's kind of vague, IMO, in that episode what he plans to do exactly - they find him ON the ship pretty quickly).
> 
> See you next Sunday!


	19. A Best Friend And a Bottle(s)

Bones was getting a divorce.

It had lined up pretty coincidentally, actually. Jim had gone radio silent after his argument with Spock, and Bones had called to check up on him – as friends did. After a long, rambling video message, Bones had ended with ‘and, uh, by the way, we’re calling it quits, just letting you know’. Accordingly, Jim had shown up a week later with a metric assload of liquor in tow.

He had been good about not getting blackout drunk lately. Hell, up until that point, Jim hadn’t even drank after breaking up with Spock. He had just felt oddly numb and detached, shuffling about his house and going about his day. He’d fixed up a couple of things for people around the complex. Going too far out of the apartment made him shaky, tense. It was like some sort of weird dream, even if a part of his brain _begged_ him to snap out of it.

Now, though, this was all the urging Jim needed to get absolutely shitfaced. This was _snapping_ out of it.

And he was well on his way to Blackout Central, slumped on Bones’ couch with a glass still in his hand. Bones was on the floor next to the couch, his head tilted back loosely. His tie was untied around his neck, his jacket thrown over the back of the chair next to him. He’d just gotten back from another court battle. Child custody.

Bones hadn’t explained it any more than that.

“So, out of curiosity,” Jim slurred, head resting on the couch cushion, “If you were, like, really drunk –”

“No, Jim,” Bones immediately cut him off. Jim didn’t even open his eyes in response. “I wouldn’t fuck you sober, I wouldn’t fuck you drunk. I would not fuck you here or there, I would not fuck you anywhere, Sam-I-Am.”

Jim stuck his lip out, half-pouting. It hadn’t been a serious offer, anyway. He hadn’t been able to get Spock out of his mind, and that would make things _really_ weird with Bones, anyway. It just would’ve been nice to know if Bones found him _desirable._ Some stupid part of his brain told him that maybe this was a good thing, the break-up, because Spock deserved better.

“That _wasn’t_ what I was asking.” It had been, but Jim saw the opportunity to change the topic and took it. “I was asking if you were really drunk, you’d tell me how it went today.” He cracked his eyes open.

Bones tilted his head just enough so that Jim could see his sweaty, pained face. It was Bones’ patented _no and fuck you for asking_ face, but eventually, he just reached for the whiskey bottle and took a glug for courage.

Jim hoped Bones wouldn’t feel guilty about this binge, after the fact. Bones had been his longest supporter for stopping his alcohol abuse, and here he was now, drinking with him. Bones was going through a really shitty time, and Jim hadn’t even brought up the Spock fight with him. Breaking up with a guy he’d been seeing for a little more than a few months didn’t compare to this.

Bones didn’t deserve this. The guy was a little rough around the edges, but he deserved better than this.

“She, uh.” Bones coughed as he pushed the whiskey bottle into Jim’s hands, where he took a long drink. “She’s fighting for full.”

“The _fuck.”_ Jim bolted straight up on the couch, but Bones remained playing with the ends of his tie, examining any frayed threads. He was fidgeting. Jim fought past the sudden blackness at the edges of his vision from moving too fast. “Are you fucking kidding me? This is where Jo lives, this is where her room is, your wife’s the one who moved out, what the _fuck.”_ Granted, it likely came out as something less coherent, but the point stood. What the _fuck._ Bones loved his daughter more than anything in the world. _Full custody?_

“She’s gonna move in here. Make it easier for her. Doesn’t even have to switch schools.”

“How …?”

Bones took a deep breath, drained the rest of his glass (Jim thought that one had rum in it, but he wasn’t sure), and coughed again. “I’ve been assigned to a starship position.”

Jim’s heart sank. “You’re joking.”

“We knew it was an option, Jim. It was a pipe dream that they’d keep me around in the Starfleet medical clinic forever, taking care of alcohol poisoning and heat stroke.”

“And they won’t let you take Jo along?”

“Living on a starship is hard on a kid, Jim.” Jim understood that much – there was a reason why his mom left him in Riverside, Iowa. Well, there were many reasons. And the one time he _did_ leave Iowa had left him on Tarsus IV. He understood where Bones was coming from. “And it’s an exploratory vessel, going into uncharted space. That’s a risk I’m not taking with Jo.”

“Jesus, Bones. I’m so fucking sorry. How long is the mission?”

“Five years.”

Five years. Five years without seeing Bones. Even if they did get a shore leave, the chances that it’d be on Earth would be practically nil. Jim knew his eyes were wet already, and he stuffed the heels of his hands against them in an attempt to keep himself from full-out sobbing. _No,_ this wasn’t about him and his dumb ass problems. His stupid loneliness. He was so goddamn drunk. “Um,” Jim asked, as if talking while laying on a couch with his eyes blocked by his hands was the most normal thing in the world, “What … what ship is it?”

“USS _Enterprise_.”

The Enterprise. The same ship that Pike wanted Spock to be First on. Suddenly, Jim wanted nothing more than to be on that ship with Bones and Spock, argument or no argument. The two people he cared about most in the world were going to be on a metal can, hurtling through space, without him.

It occurred to him that he wouldn’t get to see Jo, either. Bones’ wife thought he was a cold-blooded murderer ( which wasn’t exactly a weird thing for her to believe, given events ) and wouldn’t let that around her child. Jim hoped he hadn’t been a factor in the divorce, Bones allowing him around Jo.

God, he really hoped not. Bones had said he wasn’t, but … Bones also wouldn’t tell him if he was, either.

His eyes drifted up to the photo from Spock’s office, still hanging up on Bones’ apartment wall. Petunia, the planet with petals. The astrothermal vents. Very pretty, from a distance. Up close, probably very deadly. Somehow, he suddenly got a lot more grateful for the hand-drawn version hanging in his apartment, complete with artist’s signature. Looking at the picture calmed him down, let him center his thoughts. Bones would be investigating things like that. The wonders of the galaxy.

Without him.

Still, he faked a watery smile. “That’s … I mean, hell, the situation around it is shitty, but that’s the newest ship that Starfleet has. It’s top of the line. You’ll do a lot of good work there.”

“Yeah.” Bones sighed at him, his face tucked into a tight frown. “The divorce is – I saw it coming for a while. And I wouldn’t be able to see Jo, anyway, so her fighting for full is … I get it. I’m just fighting for rights to see her between missions.”

“She won’t let you have that?”

“She’s willing to negotiate it. She just doesn’t want me coming back and trying for more than visits, here and there.”

“You’re not a bad dad, Bones.”

“I know. It’s just part of the risk of Starfleet. They might send you halfway across the universe. And you can take your family, if you want them to take the same risks you do.” Bones grunted unhappily, taking the whiskey again. That was what he was favoring. Jim poured a little more vodka in his cup. They didn’t even taste good together. “This is the best we can do.”

They drank quietly for a little while longer. Jim was starting to see the benefit in just passing out on the couch. Even so, he reached down and clapped a hand on Bones’ shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You’re doing the best for your family, Bones. A lot of dads don’t even make it that far. I’m real – I’m real proud of you.”

Bones bubbled out a chuckle, and Jim wasn’t sure if he was mocking him or trying not to cry. Instead, he reached up and patted Jim’s hand. “Thanks, kid.”

“Don’t call me kid. I was a _decorated_ ,” Jim added with a roll of his eyes, “Starfleet Captain.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bones tilted his head to look at him again. When Jim met his eyes, he saw that Bones’ were glassy and his face was slack. Yup. He was very, very drunk. Mission accomplished. “Say. Did you really kill that guy?”

That was an unexpected question, but it brought Jim’s mind away from the fact that he’d be facing the next five years alone, whether or not Spock rejoined the _Enterprise_. There was Pike, maybe, but that was different. He’d never been Pike’s equal the way he’d been Spock’s or Bones’.

And hell, Jim didn’t even mind answering it. Bones had been good about not asking, for fear of starting a fight. But Jim was drunk and sad and willing to throw Bones a bone on this one, because the guy deserved to know that his best friend wasn’t actually a murderer. Even if he wanted to storm out of the apartment, he literally didn’t think he could get up from the couch right then.

‘Nope,” Jim told him, popping the ‘p’. Another shot down the throat. “Nope. No goddamn idea where the tape came from, no goddamn idea that Finn, the same Finn who cried when I gave a best man’s speech, actually hated me the entire time, no goddamn idea who _actually_ killed him.”

“Damn,’ Bones replied.

“What, you wish I actually did?”

“No. Just makes it … you know. Unfilling, or whatever. Unfulfilling?”

“You’re telling me. A year without answers. Almost a year and a half without answers.” Jim sighed out, letting the cool glass of the vodka bottle rest against his cheek. “The rest of my life without answers. Just a court martial and that was it.”

“You weren’t curious?”

“Bones, what happened ruined my life.” Jim didn’t see why he couldn’t be honest about it. “It’s not curiosity anymore. It’s me trying to think about it as little as possible so I don’t go insane.”

“I get it.”

“Yeah.” Jim sighed, trying to will his muscles to relax. He was getting tense again, and he didn’t want to go into a shouting match with Bones. The last thing he needed was to start something with his last remaining friend. “You know, it’s weird. They didn’t ask me, during the trial --- and I guess, circumstances considered, they wouldn’t – but they didn’t … I missed him. They didn’t ask. I still miss him.”

“Finney?”

“Yeah. I mean, we’d gotten a little farther apart since the whole fucking promotion debacle, but I still saw him every day on the _Republic_. He was still my best friend. And now he’s dead, and I won’t ever know what killed him.” _And my boyfriend decided to go on a wild goose chase to find out what happened._

“I’m sorry.” Bones reached up to touch Jim’s hand. “You don’t deserve that, Jim. Hey, at least you got Spock, now, right? That might be the start of an upturn.”

That was what broke him, the tiniest straw that just broke the camel’s back. He started to cry, his face screwing up as he tried to cover it up. It was stupid, and probably only succeeded in making him look like he was going to vomit.

“Shit. I – Jim, are you –”

“Sorry, oh my God, I’m sorry,” Jim gushed out, pressing his shirt collar up to his face for a few seconds. _Breathe. Spock showed you how to meditate. One. Two. Three. Red, blue, yellow. Earth, moon, sun._ “Sorry.”

“Did something happen?”

“I just …” Jim sputtered. “… we broke up, I think, we had a fight, and he might be going on the Enterprise in a few months, and sorry, man, it just got to me. It just all hit me that I’m not going to see him anymore, and it was going so good, and ....” Jim couldn’t continue.

“You two had a fight? What about?” Bones was worried, now, moving to sit on his knees and look at Jim. Laying with his back on the couch, Jim suddenly felt very much like a laboratory specimen.

Jim didn’t know where to explain that didn’t make him sound like a total psychopath. “He walked around the _Republic,”_ Jim finally managed to get out as he stared straight up at the ceiling. Bones’ mouth dropped open. “He keeps trying to investigate the trial, and I freaked out on him. Told him to get the fuck out.”

“Aw, Jim,” Bones said, in a way that made Jim start to sob again.

“I – I _asked_ him not to investigate, and he was just the only thing in my life that didn’t revolve around that _fucking_ trial, and I just, I, _god damn it,_ it just set me off –” Jim’s voice was escalating into a high pitched whine.

“Hey. Hey, hey, calm down,” Bones urged him, and Jim had realized that he had sat up to throw his arms around him. He sobbed into Bones’ shoulder. _God,_ this was supposed to be about Bones, he was so guilty, Bones was going through a goddamn divorce and this was a ridiculous break-up, but he just felt like his heart was breaking and he didn’t know what to do. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. I’m not going to see him again.” And now he was fully sounding like a stupid teenager. Jim wanted to drink again, but Bones didn’t pull away.

Bones was holding onto him, tight. A buoy in a storm. “Did you break up with him? During the fight, did you say you were?”

“N-no. But, Bones, I told him to get the fuck out of my place, I don’t think –”

“And are you still mad at him for investigating your trial?”

“ _No,_ he was just trying to help, he always does, I just wanted it to be behind – “

“Do you know if he found anything on the _Republic?”_

“He probably did, if he was telling me about it, but I –”

“Do you want to know what it is? Even if it brings back bad memories of Finney, of your trial? Will it give you closure?”

Jim fell apart in Bones’ arms more, sobbing again. He didn’t want to think about it. He had lost his ship, his crew, his best friend, his career, nearly everything but the clothes on his back, and it had destroyed his life.

 _Nothing,_ a small, stubborn voice in his mind told him, _can be worse than that. Nothing Spock finds can be worse than that. You are guilty of absolutely nothing. Nothing can change that._

“Y-yeah,” Jim mumbled, sniffing hard. “Maybe.”

“Then you’re going to go find him. And you’re going to go apologize.” Bones pulled away to look him down. “And you’re going to find out what he found. And if he tells you what he found, but doesn’t want to get back together with you, then that’s just life, Jim, and it’s usually not fair.”

“Now?” Jim struggled to get away from Bones’ arms, looking for his wallet. It wasn’t that late. Transport was still running. If he showed up, he could apologize, and it all seemed so _simple_ now, and –

Bones still held him tight. “Not right now. You showing up drunk on his doorstep isn’t going to do anything but make him glad that he got the fuck out of there.”

 _Right. Yeah._ That was reasonable. Jim relaxed in Bones’ arms, feeling drunk and cried out and like he just wanted to sleep. Bones released him after a second, and Jim still sat up, looking down at his friend. Bones, who had patiently helped him through his stupid breakdown when he hadn’t seen Bones ever cry _once._

“I’m just going to miss you so much, man,” Jim started to cry again, collapsing against Bones’ shoulder. Bones let out a choked laugh.

“Yeah. Yeah, gonna miss you too, asshole,” he joked roughly, like there was something in his throat. “I think you had a little bit too much to drink. Let’s get you to bed, okay?”


	20. T'nash-veh ashayam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> You'll notice that this note is at the beginning! I wanted to give a quick CW for a sex scene towards the end of the chapter. It's not super explicit, but I know it's not some people's cup of tea so I wanted to put it up front.   
> At the end of the day, I think one of the major drives in this fic is the search for truth. Jim definitely has enough evidence by now to totally clear his name, but there's still this question of where the hell Finney is / where the hell Finney's body is. And, as per Picard's famous speech in TNG, Starfleet personnel have a duty to the truth (which was also a working title for this fic for the longest time).   
> Thank you everyone who's read/commented/kudos'ed, and I'll see you next Sunday!

At least it was a good day for embarrassing the fuck out of himself.

Other than it being incredibly humid. Jim had already sweat through his shirt, but he wasn’t sure if that was out of nervousness or the heat. He didn’t do things like this. Jim Kirk always left people and never came back. Spock had been the longest relationship he’d ever had, and it hadn’t even lasted that long.

What if Spock laughed at him? _Vulcans don’t laugh._

What if Spock told him to fuck off? _Honestly, probably deserved, but unlikely._

What if Spock called the police on him? _No worries, officer, just a convicted murderer talking to his ex-boyfriend, but not in a homicidal way._

This seemed a lot simpler when he was drunk. Now, he was stone-cold sober and with a raging headache.

He stood in front of Spock’s apartment, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves. How bad could it possibly be? Before he could psych himself out and run away, Jim knocked on the door.

There was a second, before the front door slid open, and there was Spock.

 _This was the right decision,_ Jim told himself as he saw Spock, because the way he felt when he saw him was indescribable. Everything seemed _better_ and the seriousness of the situation evaporated. For a second, all that mattered was seeing Spock again. “Hi.”

Damn, he wished he could read Spock better. He’d been able to, for a little while, but now … nope. Nothing. He had no idea. “Hi?”

“Hi.”

Spock had no response.

He was fucking this up already. “Uh, can we talk?”

“Certainly. One moment, please.” Suddenly, the door slid shut before Jim could walk in, and _that_ was definitely weird. There was definitely something up there. His mind immediately jumped to the worst case – _shit, did Spock bring someone home –_ before he dismissed it. It’d taken Spock a month to kiss him human-style. He didn’t bring anyone home.

_Unless it’s a rebound._

Jim told himself to shut up. Soon, the door slid open again and Spock beckoned him in. There was nothing unusual about the living room, except for … huh, a stack of paper. Had Spock just organized those? Usually that would’ve been fine – some people still took to physical paper, though Jim didn’t really understand the hype – except it was about a half foot high.

Oh, secure documents maybe. Those were usually still hard printed.

“Taxes, right?” Jim joked, gesturing towards the paper. Spock gave him a look that somehow subtly and elegantly expressed _what the hell are you talking about?_

No, this was going well.

Jim went to take a seat on Spock’s immaculate couch, and Spock sat … right next to him. That made things more difficult. He leaned forward and scrubbed his hands over his face.

Best to start with _dignity._

“I am a gigantic asshole,” Jim grumbled between his fingers, elbows resting on his knees. “I overreacted, and you didn’t deserve any of that, and I am _so_ sorry. And if you want me to go, seriously, you don’t even have to say anything, I will, and I’ll never see you again.”

Jim was surprised when he felt a hand rest on the top of his back. Spock’s hand travelled up, up, until it was resting on his neck. He was playing with the hair on his nape.

“You did overreact,” Spock admitted. “However, you did ask me directly not to investigate your court trial any further, and I did directly disobey that. For that, I should also apologize. Even if I have a duty to justice, it was wrong of me to disrespect your wish of privacy.”

“You were only trying to help.”

“Yes, because I believed it best for you and your long-term mental health. That did not give me permission to do so.”

“What were you supposed to do, hold it in?” Jim sighed, leaning back up. The hand on his back turned into an arm around his shoulders, and he felt the anxiety leaving him already. “Sorry. Why did you even investigate? I mean, I can’t imagine that the _Republic_ ’s location is public record.”

Spock’s hesitation made Jim concerned, and he placed a hand on Spock’s knee. Spock seemed perfectly put together, but that didn’t mean anything.

“Admiral Pike allowed me to tour the _Enterprise_ , in order to entice me to accept the first officer position. During so, I … experienced a panic attack. I had a panic attack,” Spock repeated to himself. “I did not want Admiral Pike to see me in such a position, so I fled as far as I could in the hangar bay to avoid being seen. In doing so, completely by coincidence, I boarded the _Republic_.”

“And you decided to look around?”

“I was looking for the medical bay. I had burst a blood vessel in my eye. In doing so, I looked around, yes.”

 _Shit._ Jim didn’t think it was possible to feel worse about the situation, but the idea that he had shouted at his boyfriend after having a panic attack and fled out of fear was _definitely_ worse. Did Spock usually not tell him about those? Did he have them often? He had seen him during his certification test, but he had thought that was a one-off.

“Spock, damn. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you went through that. It’s probably shitty for me to ask if you’re okay, now, but do you … feel better?”

“I am in therapy.” Spock confessed, staring straight ahead. Jim would have thought that he was perfectly calm. “Admiral Pike recommended it to me. And I realized that, while being with you was beneficial for my mental health, I could not depend on our relationship alone.” He paused. “Especially because our relationship had ended.”

“ _Therapy.”_ Jim avoided the last part of what he said, for now. So Spock was under the impression that they were through. Maybe that was that, then. Maybe Spock didn’t even want to get back together. “That’s great, Spock. That’s amazing. How’s it working for you?”

“I am unable to take most common medications due to my brain chemistry, so we are relying purely on cognitive behavioral therapy.”

“Yeah, but how’s it _working?”_

“There are a few cultural clashes. My therapist seems hesitant on what is an upbringing aspect of mine and what is unhealthy behavior. They have asked me to dictate what occurred on the _Theseus_ several times, and we have talked through it from a rational viewpoint.” Spock seemed to hesitate. “It is more logical than I expected. More Vulcans, I presume, would benefit from it. It has helped.”

Jim found himself grinning, genuinely. Spock was an amazing guy, and he deserved to have some peace about the entire situation. Trauma happened in Starfleet, and it was difficult for people to work through it. Especially stubborn Vulcans. “That’s great, Spock. Seriously, I’m really glad you’re working through it.”

“It is my hope that I will be on a starship again. It is my goal.”

Ah, there was that problem again. Dr. McCoy was going to be on the _Enterprise_ , and regardless of whether he made up with Spock or not, Spock would probably be on the _Enterprise_. And Jim would be alone.

No excuse to be a jackass, he told himself.

“Yeah? _Enterprise_ , maybe?”

Spock’s lip quirked into a standard awkward half-Vulcan half-smile. “It has been recommended to me so often; it seems as if I have little choice.”

“Just because I know you’d do really good at it. And it’ll be … well, you’d probably call it scientifically fascinating. I’d call it exciting.” Jim squeezed Spock’s knee. “And hey, I heard Bones is gonna be on it, too.”

“Will his entire family?”

“Uh.” Bones didn’t expressly give him permission to admit his divorce, and Jim didn’t want to drop that on him. “No, Jo-Jo Jr and Jocelyn are going to stay on Earth. But the medical bay couldn’t have a better medical officer.”

“It will be good to have a competent medical officer, yes,” Spock agreed with him, and Jim could’ve sworn that his face lit up a little at it. Well, good. He was glad that made Spock happy.

“You both are going to have to keep in contact with me. I want the exact same stories told from separate viewpoints. That’s the best way to experience a story. You understand?”

Spock’s arm tightened around his shoulder in response, and Jim felt his heart flutter. God, he was hopeless and stupid and _very_ in love with this guy. “As you order, Jim.”

Then again, he asked himself, why would Spock be touching him like this if he didn’t want to get back together? Vulcans didn’t touch much. Now, there was an arm around his back and he was touching Spock’s knee. He was snapped out of his thoughts as Spock twitched.

“May I broach the topic of the _USS Republic_ and your trial, now? Are you willing to talk about it?” Spock asked after a moment’s pause, and he realized that he seemed … meek. _Shit, was he scared I’d start a fight as soon as I asked? Was that why he was sitting on it?_

Jim wanted to comfort him, to touch his hands to his face and tell him that he was sorry and he would never blow up like that again, but he didn’t know what was appropriate there.

No better time to clear it up, he guessed.

“Yes. Yeah, Spock, of course. Before –” Jim cleared his throat. “Before that, though, can we clarify, uh. What we are?”

“A … human and a half-Vulcan individual?”

“You knew exactly what I meant, Spock, you’re just being cagey,” Jim teased him, a relaxed smile spreading across his face. Inwardly, he wasn’t as calm. “I mean – the fight. I don’t know. Me yelling at you. That. I would understand if you wanted to not want to start where things left off, me and you dating, but –“

Spock’s fingers went up as Jim babbled. Two extended ones, his finger and his middle.

Jim could have cried in relief. He raised the hand on Spock’s knee, pressing their fingers together. He never would’ve thought such a simple action would’ve felt so good, so _reaffirming_. Spock paused, and Jim realized that he was feeling everything Jim was feeling at that moment.

A whole lot of affection. Shame. Sadness. Guilt. Longing.

“Where we left off,” Spock repeated, and Jim beamed at him. “I seem to recall what we were doing when we left off. Would you like to resume that, or start from the beginning?”

Jim paused for a second, confused, before realizing. “You’re the best guy in the universe,” he whispered, breathless, reaching for Spock. _The Republic can wait for just a second._

The kiss was just as good as the second time. Jim’s mouth parted almost immediately when he felt Spock’s press against his. Spock’s tongue, unusually cool, slipped into his mouth and Jim returned the favor. _He’s … definitely got an extra pair of bicuspids that humans don’t have. Neat. I didn’t notice that the first time._

His hands went up to curl in Spock’s hair. He didn’t even think of what Spock had found on the Republic, because _holy shit,_ he got to touch Spock again, he got to be with his boyfriend again, and that overrode anything else.

Spock’s hands went to touch against his jaw, cupping his face. Jim could’ve cried. Spock always made him feel like he was _precious,_ not like he was some recovering alcoholic asshole who got convicted for murdering his best friend/first officer.

Jim raised his hand to press against Spock’s on his face, and the resulting friction (telepathy? Touch? Jim didn’t know), made Spock make a noise deep in his throat. A groan.

 _Yes please, I like that,_ Jim thought, reaching for Spock’s hand properly. He pried it away from his face and interlaced their fingers together. Meanwhile, his other arm went around Spock’s neck to keep him there.

In doing so, he had pulled himself into Spock’s lap. They were a jumble of legs and feet for a second, before Jim figured, _fuck it,_ and wrapped his legs around Spock’s waist.

“As a warning,” Spock murmured, his voice rough ( _well, fuck, that’s hot), “_ Hands are considered a primary erogenous zone in Vulcan physiology.”

That was a little hotter. Jim only squeezed Spock’s hand in response. “Man, who knew Vulcans were that easy to please?” He joked, and when Spock’s eyes flashed to look at him, he noticed his pupils were blown wide. Jim could’ve sworn he saw something devious in them, before Spock ducked his head to press his lips to the side of his neck.

Jim moaned at the sensation. “’kay, maybe you know where the human ero- eroge-“ Four syllable words were a little hard to get out when a Vulcan was starting to _suck_ at the side of his neck with impressive strength, and Jim felt an entire shudder pass through him as all of the blood in his body sank to his dick.

Spock must’ve felt it. He was pressed up against Spock’s front, after all, and despite himself, Jim grinded his hips a little against Spock. He just needed to _move,_ he was going to go crazy with Spock necking him like that without being able to move, and squeezing Spock’s hand as tight as he could was hardly a good substitute.

Soon, Jim felt Spock get hard against him. His erection was, uh, _considerable,_ and he wondered if that was a Vulcan thing, or a Jim-is-the-luckiest-guy-in-the-world thing.

Taking matters into his own hands, Jim unlocked his legs from around Spock’s pelvis, instead putting pressure on him until Spock was on his back. Jim laid on top of him, chest-to-chest.

At first, he was concerned that maybe he was pushing Spock into this, that maybe sex was a little more sacred in Vulcan culture, but then he felt Spock grab the hem of his shirt and yank it upward, over his head, so fervently that he heard a couple of stitches rip.

No, this was definitely on Spock’s terms, too. Jim broke away from the kiss to smile at Spock warmly. He wanted to ask if they wanted to take this somewhere else, but then Spock rolled his hips forward to grind their erections together and Jim realized with a burst of pleasure that he was perfectly content on the couch, thank you very much.

“I missed your presence,” Spock admitted softly, tugging down Jim’s pants and boxers just slightly. Jim returned the favor. “ _Jim.”_ In that moment, Jim wished he was telepathic, because he would give anything to feel what Spock was feeling. He wanted to know _everything,_ and he never wanted to argue with Spock again, and he just wanted to remained right here, forever, until he died, and –

Every coherent thought died in his mind as Spock wrapped his hand around their dicks, thrusting his hips towards Jim’s. _Oh my God, it’s been so long, how did I go for so long without this, oh my god._ “Yeah,” Jim squeaked out, an entire shudder passing through his body as he kept rolling his hips against Spock’s. “Yeah. Just – just like that, baby.”

Jim didn’t last long. It’d been a while, and the relief he felt at Spock wanting them to get back together was near orgasmic in itself. He hiked his leg around Spock’s pelvis and moaned, his face pressed firmly against Spock’s neck. “Close,” he gasped out, half-heartedly wondering if Spock was going to be super disappointed he was climaxing in, oh, probably about two minutes, cool, cool, that was fine.

Spock didn’t slow down. Instead, he started to grind his erection more persistently against Jim’s. His free hand went to touch Jim’s face to bring him forward into a kiss. Jim felt like he couldn’t quite get enough air to contribute properly to it, but he pushed back against Spock anyway. He felt Spock’s hand move away from his face to curl around his Jim’s own, their palms sliding against one another, and then –

Jim came, entire body tensing as he grunted hard against Spock’s lips. He relaxed just as he began to worry that _cool, I totally embarrassed myself in front of my boyfriend,_ before Spock thrust his hips forward hard enough to rub against Jim’s stomach. His head tilted back in rapture as Spock climaxed, adding to the sticky mess already splattered against Jim’s stomach.

Satiated, Jim rested his head on Spock’s torso. _I’m content with two minutes if Spock only lasted two-thirty. That works for me,_ he thought to himself, and then added, _Here’s to many more._

Because they were together again. _Finally._ Jim smiled to himself. Spock’s hand dropped his (he felt an entire shudder working its way through Spock’s body as he did so, and he wondered if the Vulcan felt overstimulated at the contact) and stroked through Jim’s hair.

“Honestly, that went a lot better than I thought,” Jim mumbled, chin against Spock’s chest. “Apologizing. Maybe I should do it more often.”

Spock hummed to himself. “How did you think it would go?”

“ ‘Ha-ha, fuck off before I call the police?”

“Hm.” Spock’s thumb travelled over the shell of his ear. “No. I enjoy your company very much, Jim. And … it brings me pleasure to be with you again.”

Jim knew they had more important things to talk about. Whatever groundbreaking thing that Spock had discovered on the _Republic,_ for one. For now, though, Jim took the opportunity to let his breathing settle as Spock’s hand continued to card through his hair. They were okay. No matter what happened after this, Jim knew, they would be okay. He was going to call up Bones after this and thank him a hundred times for advising him to come back here, because Jim had his boyfriend back, and _god,_ he didn’t think he’d ever been more relieved in his life.

His stomach grumbled, loudly, breaking the silence of the living room. That was enough to bring Jim back to reality, and most notably, the sticky-quickly-turning-to-crusty sensation on his abdomen. Great.

“Stay for dinner,” Spock advised, pushing himself up on his elbows. “I have an outfit replicator that you may use, just place your clothing in the recycler.”

Even if the momentary quiet and relaxation was over, Jim had to admit that he was looking forward to dinner. He’d been too nervous to eat earlier in the day, and now he was afterglowing _and_ hungry.

In five minutes, Jim had quickly washed himself up in Spock’s bathroom, chucked his outfit in the recycler, and changed into a freshly synthesized outfit from the replicator. When he returned to the kitchen, Spock was changed and preparing some produce, his back to him.

“Would you like to hear what I discovered on the _Republic?”_ Spock asked languidly, without turning around. 

Oh, shit. Yeah. There was that again. Part of Jim wanted to end the night without talking about it, but that’d make him feel selfish. Spock had been sitting on this for a long time, and he deserved to be heard out.

Jim looked over the vegetables and fruits he was preparing – _I recognize a solid 70% of these_ – and grabbed something familiar. A carrot. He could chop a carrot for soup, sure. Besides, having something to do with his hands while Spock explained was … less anxiety-inducing. Jim’s jaw was clenched already, and he forced himself to relax. “Sure,” he offered. “Yeah. What did you find?”

Spock explained. Explained from the moment he boarded the Enterprise, to his flight to the Republic, to the bridge, to the chess game, to medical bay, to exploring with Pike, to finding the secret hideaway.

Meanwhile, Jim felt his limbs get colder and colder. He didn’t realize he had completely stopped helping prepare dinner. The knife was still raised over the carrot, still.

“Admiral Pike and I have investigated the shuttle records from the starbase,” Spock concluded, pushing the cut fruit into a large bowl. “He was planning on going to a small human colony only a few hundred lightyears away. Only six starships travel to and from that colony per Earth year, and the timing didn’t line up for them, so it was a one-man shuttle. I believe he was planning on returning after some time, claiming you intentionally tried to kill him and he had only just been able to survive. He would be lauded as a hero, moreso than his Starfleet record would imply. I do not believe he survived the trip, as he never returned.”

Jim’s throat was dry.

Finney had hated him. Hated him, and been obsessed with destroying him. And he hadn’t noticed a goddamn _thing._ He wished he could look back on it, say that he saw some sort of evil glint in Finney’s eye, but … Finney had been his friend. He’d bawled like a baby when his daughter had been born.

Now, he had made some elaborate conspiracy to get back at him for some stupid promotion fuck-up. And, as far as Jim could tell, he had succeeded.

Mostly.

“Planned to?” Jim asked, still facing away from him. His shoulders were tense, jaw still clenched shut. _Finn. What the_ fuck. “I can’t help but notice that the Prodigal, or whatever crazy shit he scrawled on the walls, isn’t on Earth.”

“I contacted the colony. They received no shuttles during that time – indeed, for six Earth months after.”

And suddenly, it was the case of the disappearing shuttle.

Spock stepped to go behind Jim, his footsteps quiet against the linoleum. At first, Jim flinched against his boyfriend, unwilling to be touched, but he soon relaxed. Spock’s arms wound around his middle. A kiss was pressed against his temple as Spock let Jim take some of his weight, physically and mentally. _It’s Spock. Spock’s seen your O-Face. He’s fine._

There was the chance that Finney was still alive out there, somewhere. A traitor and an obsessive asshole and someone who had broken Jim’s heart, but alive and out there.

Or, at the very least, his shuttle was.

“Jim,” Spock murmured, his arms sliding around his back. Gingerly, Spock reached from behind him and took the knife from his hands, laying it down. “The amount of evidence we’ve gathered could clear your name. It is sufficient to grant you a full pardon.” Spock’s fingers lingered on Jim’s wrist, and Jim would’ve given him anything to know what he was feeling. Jim wasn’t sure, himself.

“But – Finney might be alive out there, somewhere.” Jim’s voice was cracked, even to his own ears.

“The chances are minimal. I have yet to examine the local planetary bodies, but I know there are many dangers to a one-man shuttle.”

“Then we can find the _body,_ Spock, I –” No. He wasn’t tearing up again, he wasn’t crying while sober, not in front of Spock, _no._ One hand raised up to rub at his eye furiously. “I need to know what happened to him. I need to know the end of this.”

“The investigation can end here. You would regain your titles. Your position.”

“That can wait. Spock, I need to _know_ what happened to him!”

Jim felt Spock tense behind him, clearly wondering if he pushed too far. He raised his hand across his shoulder to lightly stroke Spock’s collarbone, a wordless _sorry, I’m sorry,_ absorbed into his skin.

He would get his pardon. He would. But, after more than a year of being on his own and pushing Starfleet out of his mind, the more immediate issue was tracking down the man who had taken that all away from him.

“I could requisition a shuttle.” Spock asked softly, so quietly that Jim wasn’t sure if he’d just read his mind. “A one-person shuttle would be … more dangerous. A two-person shuttle could have transport capabilities, if needed.”

They wouldn’t have to worry about making a landing. Still. Jim turned around in Spock’s arms, pressing his back against the counter of the kitchen. Spock still leaned against him, his chest pressed against Jim’s. Jim could get really used to that. “Spock, babe, I realize we’re kind of focusing on me now – again – but I can’t ask you to do that. Not only is it your first time out in space for a long time, it’s … it might be dangerous, you know? Who’s to say that whatever got Finney’s shuttle won’t get us?”

Spock considered it, before placing his hands on Jim’s neck. His thumbs drifted across the underside of his jaw, and Jim wondered how much he was deliberating internally. How difficult of a decision this was for him. How selfish he thought Jim was for even asking this of him.

“I will not let you go alone.”

Jim loved him. Jim loved him so much in that second that it _hurt._ His mouth split into a wide smile, and he let out a little nervous, embarrassed laugh at how suddenly his mood changed. As Spock touched him, Jim _knew_ he felt it. “That’s … guess it’s you and me, then, babe.”

“It is you and me,” Spock reveled quietly, his demeanor nevertheless grim. “T'nash-veh ashayam.”


	21. Chewing Gum

Admiral Pike was sitting on Spock’s desk, and it bothered him immensely. That was where he completed his _work._ “So, let’s get this straight,” he went over again, tilting his head to the side. “We’re dealing with seasonal asteroid storms, gravity distortions, and, oh, let’s not forget, thirty years ago, they found a Romulan vessel in the area.”

“That is what we know. This sector remains largely undiscovered, and astronomical advancements have been made only recently. The only nearby planet able to sustain large-scale advanced life is a small human colony nearby.”

“Was that – “ Pike’s head snapped over to Jim. “Jim, do you think that was meant to reassure me?”

“Spock doesn’t reassure,” Jim answered from his spot on Spock’s chair, sitting in front of his desk. They were facing a horizontal sim-board, to which Spock was noting in the explored areas with a wave of his hand. He had constructed a helpful astral map. Several predictions of Finney’s trajectories were transcribed there.

Jim was chewing on a piece of gum behind him, the sound frustratingly audible. Spock had noticed that he’d been doing that in the week or so since their reunion. Jim had been chewing it almost constantly, adding in a frustrating new challenge to kissing. “That’s what I like about him.”

At first, he’d questioned the new gum-chewing practice until he’d looked up something on Jim’s PADD and saw the man had left a webpage up entitled ‘how to cut down on alcohol consumption’. Dr. McCoy had a hand in it too, no doubt, intent on helping them however he could.

Dr. McCoy had been furious about the entire Finney debacle, livid with rage. He had ordered both of them to wring Finney’s neck, if it hadn’t been wrung already. Spock had quietly informed him that the chances Finney was still alive were practically nil, but that the sentiment was appreciated. Dr. McCoy had returned with an order to find his skeletal vertebrae and wring those instead.

Even with Bones’ underlying anger, Spock had noticed a large change in Jim’s demeanor (at least, from his demeanor before their argument). He was … hopeful, for the first time since Spock had known him.

Both Dr. McCoy and Admiral Pike were charged with starting the pardon proceedings while they were gone. Spock had recommended that they wait until they returned from their mission, because they would likely need to question both him and Spock, but Jim had insisted. He wanted this to be over and done with as soon as possible.

Spock had a feeling that Jim simply did not want to wait around Earth until there was news to tell about it. He needed to do something, and very few things could be done. He had already written down his statement on the entire matter, and watched Jim write his.

“Oh my God,” Spock heard the Admiral quietly complain behind him. “Son, you might want to wear a higher collar next time. You’re not exactly being subtle with that thing.”

Jim made a noise of confusion, before he responded with laughter. “If you can believe it, it looks a _lot_ better now. I think I got it – was it around a week ago, Spock? You’ve been less bitey since then.”

“Please do not inform the Admiral of our private life.”

“Yeah, please don’t inform the Admiral of your private life. Glad you two are happy and fulfilled.” Before Jim could make a joke about being ‘fulfilled’, Pike’s gaze was back on the simboard.

“What’re you doing now, Spock?” Pike asked again, flipping through a few files on shuttle schematics.

Spock was drawing on the board with his hand, neatly making notes here and there. Currently, he was focusing on the survival probabilities for different models of shuttle. “There have been several discoveries in the area. I am noting them, so we can better determine where Finney’s shuttle landed.”

“And, uh, keeping you two boys safe, right?”

“Yes. That.” Spock tried not to think about it too much. While the alternative (letting Jim go alone, travelling the route that had gotten his former best friend killed) was inarguably worse, Spock was nervous at the idea of going in a shuttle again. In an area of the galaxy known for bad weather.

_It wasn’t a starship. They would prepare. They would be fine._

_There were no escape pods. If the shuttle began to break up, then it would be the end._

No. Spock would not let himself spiral again. His therapist had informed him of when they started to occur, and he tried to avoid that as much as he was able. There had been a few panic attacks since, but they were few and far between. Instead, he focused on drawing the planets and other astronomical phenomena. “So, what’s the plan,” Pike asked, clearly to Jim, “If he is alive?”

“The chances are – “

“Astronomically small, I know, I know,” Pike called over to Spock from where he had butted in.

Jim seemed to consider it. “Honestly, haven’t really considered it, Chris. I’m sure he’s dead. We’re just going to find his shuttle, get the black box from it, and haul ass out of there. I just need to know. You know?”

“Yeah. And by the time you get back, hopefully your pardon will have gone through.”

“Really? You think it’ll happen that fast?”

The excitement in Jim’s voice made Spock happy. They had not bonded, but he knew how to detect emotions in Jim’s voice, the way he spoke. He knew what thrilled Jim endlessly, and the idea of receiving his titles again _thrilled_ Jim. Spock could not say the thought did not thrill him, too. “I’ve had the evidence lined up since Spock and I got back from the _Republic_. It’ll take some time to sort through, sure, so maybe it won’t be done _quite_ that fast.”

“Do you think it’ll be …” Jim sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Quiet? I don’t want to come home to a crowd of media. I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.”

“Different kind of attention. And honestly, I don’t know. Gossip travels fast in Starfleet. I can’t guarantee they’re just going to quietly give you the position back.”

Letting out a groan, Jim flopped back in his chair. Spock stepped in, even if his back was to the duo. “It may be better in the long term circumstance,” Spock urged. “If the public knows the truth. You will be placed on a starship again, and you do not want your crewmembers to have any suspicion.”

Jim sat silent in his chair, and Spock turned around from the board to face him. He looked dumbfounded. Spock wondered if he had not yet considered that he would be in the stars again. Because he would. Spock had never been more confident of that.

“Yeah, and you did it yourself, Jim,” Chris advised, “It’s not that hard to disappear. This time, you can disappear with a prettier view.”

“I guess so,” Jim mumbled in amazement, running his fingers along his cheeks. “Um. Wow, yeah. I’ll be on a starship again. Spock, I don’t think … I mean, shit, right, of course I will.”

“Give it some time, but yeah, I want you in the stars again. You were one of the most promising young Captains we had, and I want everyone to feel like the stupidest man alive for doubting you.” Pike paused. “Including me, of course.”

“So, you’d feel like yourself?”

Pike definitely threw the rest of his lunch refuse at him, and Spock had the mildly frustrating feeling like he was teaching the cadets again. They had _just_ turned in the final versions of their shuttle schematics, and the outrage had been palpable. “ _Admiral, Jim,”_ He lectured, and Pike made a noise of distaste.

“Hey, you can’t complain. I’m pretty sure you’re just drawing up there, now. _That_ looks like a flower.”

“It kinda does. Wait,” Jim grunted, leaning forward. He reached for the PADD again. “Spock, what sector is this again? What planet is that?”

Spock turned around, gesturing towards the planet he’d drawn on the board. “This is Mu Epsilon IV. This,” he gestured towards the core of the planet, “Is the actual planetary body. These,” Then, he gestured towards the ‘petals’, “Are the fluorescent astrothermal vents being ejected from the star. You recognize this, Jim. There is a children’s drawing of it in your apartment.”

“Yeah,” Jim remarked with a smile. “The first day we met.”

“Second. When you came to threaten me in my office.”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Pike asked, turning his head around to whip at Jim, where he’d suddenly gone red. Spock felt a stab of smug satisfaction as Jim stumbled out an explanation about why he’d first come to see Spock in his office.

He’d forgiven Jim, but he would make no excuses as to his previous behavior.

“All your trajectories,” Jim finally remarked, still red-faced as he faced the board, “Have him going around Petunia.”

“Petunia?”

“What Dr. McCoy’s daughter named the star,” Spock instructed the admiral, “Despite not having a resemblance to an actual petunia.”

Jim had stood and walked over to the board. Spock stood beside him, inspecting it, before it suddenly clicked into place. _Oh._

“Yeah. You thinking what I’m thinking?” Jim muttered, and Spock could only agree.

“If he managed to fly into one of the vents,” Spock stipulated, drawing such a scenario, “The shuttle would have started to break apart. The vent would start to draw him into the planet through magnetic attraction to the radiation shunts on board the shuttle.”

“The ship would’ve started to sink with the Captain on it,” Pike muttered in amazement.

“What would’ve been his options, Spock?”

“There are two. Either he would have attempted to escape the planet’s orbit until the shuttle broke apart, or he would have escaped the venting by performing the landing on the planet surface.”

“Do you think the shuttle would’ve survived that?”

“It … “ Spock considered it. “It is unlikely. But theoretically possible.”

“That’s my middle name, baby. Jim Theoretically Possible Kirk.” Jim joked, and Spock saw the swelling happiness in him again. He turned around to face Pike. “Then that’s stop number one.”

“Is it _safe_ for you two boys?”

“Safe is a difficult term to define. However, with proper shuttle guidance, we can let the shuttle remain in orbit and beam down onto the planet to search together. The shuttle should remain unharmed, as long as we avoid the astrothermal vents. They should be somewhat stationary, if the planet isn’t experiencing strong tectonic plate movement.”

Pike looked unconvinced and Spock stared at him evenly. Pike knew his capabilities, better than anyone, and constantly pushed Spock to perform at his best – even when it was slightly too far.

“I guess the only thing left is to requisition a shuttle, then.” Pike didn’t break eye contact with Spock. “I don’t want _either_ of you two getting hurt or killed over this. Remember we’ve already done the hard part – Jim’s getting pardoned, either way. Just make sure it’s not posthumously. Okay?”

Spock spared a glance at Jim, who was evidently staring deeply into him. He nodded once at him, and then once at Pike. Spock knew that he would risk his life for Jim’s safety – he would _give_ his life for Jim’s safety. He was confident that Jim felt the same. But his loss would devastate Jim and Jim’s loss would devastate him; therefore, Spock was not going to allow either of them to be lost.

They only had to be logical. Spock could _do_ this.

“Every precaution will be taken.”


	22. Hit Me

The resulting few weeks passed quickly. They were busy enough that Spock did not even have time to second guess his decisions, to question the logic and rationality of them. There was the shuttle itself to requisition, the various supplies needed for the trip, making sure he had an appropriate substitute for his courses, ensuring that his research assistants knew what they were doing for the time being, writing a troubleshooting guide for the simulations that were going to take place in his absence, recommendations for students joining the Science track, and a brief call to his mother explaining that he had a human boyfriend, he was acceptable, and that he was sorry he did not call more often, but he had every intention on doing so later.

Now, the night before, he had time to second guess everything.

It was late, and they were intertwined in Spock’s apartment. They had eaten and the dishes were clean. Although Spock had suggested that they return to bed to be well-rested for the early morning trip, Jim had only looked at him with wide, pleading eyes. Without directly stating it, Spock knew Jim wanted to cuddle.

Spock could not argue. He was _very_ comfortable where he was, himself.

The fire was roaring, casting the only light into the otherwise darkened room. Jim was lying on his back against the cushions, his legs spread in front of him. Spock was on his back between Jim’s thighs, his head resting on Jim’s chest and abdomen. Jim’s arm twisted underneath Spock’s arm to hold his hand, their intertwined fingers resting on Spock’s chest.

In meditation, Spock often tried to focus on a relaxing, peaceful location to center his thoughts. Usually, he aimed for his Starfleet office. Now, he knew a perfect spot for that mental location.

Jim was warm and smelled pleasant. The bed could wait for some time. They had had pleasant conversation for a few hours, and it was almost as if they weren’t going to space tomorrow. Jim had lovingly teased him, and Spock had responded in turn, and there had been light physical affection, and Spock had been happy.

Now, they rested in comfortable silence. As the hours drew on, though, Spock could feel growing doubt through Jim’s skin. He was grateful that Jim could not feel his emotions, to feel the same prickling doubt eating at him.

Bringing up their intertwined hands, Spock pressed his lips against Jim’s knuckles, one at a time.

“Spock,” Jim finally grunted, and Spock returned their hands to his chest. “Am I crazy for doing this?”

“Why would you be?”

“Because I won. I’m _getting_ my pardon. If we’re looking at it just from the moral victory, I – I mean, I got it. I was unjustly convicted, I’m getting pardoned, roll credits.” Jim was speaking directly to the ceiling, then, though he continued to rest his arm around Spock. “Why don’t I just say ‘screw the shuttle’ and stay here? Instead of dragging us both into space. _You,_ especially.”

“If it is so simple,” Spock intoned, “Why don’t you?”

Jim did not answer. Spock could feel his despair. He was worrying if he was being selfish.

“Do you remember, when I first saw you in the hospital, right after I viewed the holotape of your trial? I mentioned that I believed you embodied the values of Starfleet.”

“Yeah.” Jim’s tone turned teasing, trying to deflect the compliment. “You were into me. Even then. It’s a little embarrassing for you.”

Spock ignored the deflection. “Starfleet personnel have a duty to the truth. We know, to a large degree, what happened to Finney on board the _USS Republic._ We do not know how he met his end.”

“And you think that’s important, in the grand scheme of things? Knowing how he died?”

“In the grand scheme of things, very few things matter,” Spock corrected. “So the onus is placed upon us to choose what does.” _Poetic again,_ Spock criticized himself. _This is not helping Jim._ “We will maintain all appropriate precautions. We will know the truth of what happened, Jim, and then we will be able to fully, finally, resolve the matter. When you – when _we_ return to the stars, we will be able to do so without doubt.”

Jim went silent for a few moments, contemplative. “If it was just me, I wouldn’t even second guess myself. I’d go. Just to find out what happened to Finn. Even if it’s just to quiet down that one stupid voice in my head that says maybe this is all a big hoax.” He took a deep breath, and Spock felt a new emotion enter him. Different. Scared. Urgent. _Desperation._ “But God, Spock, the idea of risking you over this? I mean, I … I _can’t_ lose you.”

“Calm,” Spock reassured, squeezing Jim’s hand tightly. A thrill went through him at the friction. “Do not panic, Jim. I will take all appropriate measures, as will you.”

“But there’s always going to be a _risk._ And after everything you’ve done for me. I wouldn’t _be_ here without you, but it’s more than that, it’s …” Jim trailed off, the sound of crackling fire the only thing audible.

“I love you, Spock. And with everything you’ve been through, everything _I’ve_ put you through, and everything you’ve accomplished since then, the headway you made … I feel like a jackass who’s risking the best thing he’s got going for him.”

 _Oh._ At the confession, Spock rolled onto his stomach so that he was lying on top of Jim. Jim was scared; Spock could feel it, and he did not want Jim to be _frightened_ about this _._ He pressed the back of his hand against Jim’s cheek.

“Jim, the best thing you possess is your own self.”

Jim snorted. Deflecting, again, even if he detected disappointment in his response. _Why would he be disappointed in what I said?_ “That therapy is really setting in, huh?”

Spock’s gaze turned hard, and Jim relaxed, vulnerable. “Danger aside, Spock, knowing what you’ve went through … I know you have to be nervous about this. And I don’t want you to be nervous.”

“What do you know?” Spock asked, quietly. “About what I went through?”

“What you’ve told me. About the ship blowing up.”

“But you do not _know.”_

“You mean, the details?”

“How it impacted me. What it felt like. What stayed in my mind, for all this time.” Spock raised his hand against Jim’s cheek, feeling the light bristle against his sensitive palm, and in that second, a decision was made. It was intimate, yes, it was affectionate, yes, it made Spock feel raw and open in front of Jim, but he needed Jim to know in that moment.

That while the idea of a dangerous shuttle trip made him lose his emotional control, letting Jim go alone would make it _infinitely_ worse.

“May I show you?”

Jim quirked an eyebrow. “What do you mean, show?”

“A Vulcan mind meld. I can control it, and show you my memory of what happened aboard the _USS Theseus_ on that day.”

“Spock, you don’t have to do that. I don’t need to know everything about what happened in order to trust you on this. I’m just … whining.” Spock’s gaze did not change, and Jim finally relented. “If you want to show me, I’m willing to listen to whatever you want me to.”

A thrill went through him. A mind meld. Spock had never … done that before, had never shown such intimacy with another person. He brought their bodies flush with one another, his gaze growing serious.

A lightning bolt of concern. “Um, is it going to hurt?”

“It will be intense, but it will not hurt. You will see the memory through my eyes. You will feel what I felt that day. Think what I thought.” Spock paused. “Jim, if you want to stop, at any point, this is not … I am not forcing you into this. I only want you to know, as I know what happened to you.”

He had watched holovid of the worst moment of Jim’s life (or what he presumed was). This was just somewhat more direct, but perhaps the same general emotion.

“Yeah.” Jim took a deep breath, hand going up to wrap around Spock’s wrist. “Yeah, baby. Hit me.”


	23. So Very Far Away

It only took the first note of the red alert siren for Spock to jolt awake.

He was in his uniform in fifteen seconds. Out his quarters door in five. It took forty to reach the bridge, two to sit down in his chair, and three for him to turn and see Pike ( _Christopher? He told me to call him as such off the bridge)_ stumbling, his uniform askew, onto the Captain’s chair.

Around them, the red alert was acting in full force: lights flashed and alarms sounded, all with the tense anxiety of crewmen in the air. _The acting Captain had made the call._ “Defense systems at the ready, Captain,” the security officer stated. These were the gamma shift, all junior officers. Well-trained, Spock had no doubt, but not ready to handle anything serious. _Humans. Emotional, yielding._ Spock looked towards the Captain for commands.

“Report. What the hell hit us?”

The navigational officer seemed almost frantic as Spock examined his own systems. Part of the science laboratories had been hit, rupturing the containment seals. Some specimens would be ruined, but no reported casualties so far. The shields were down already, though. They had been hit in a successive blast. Photon torpedoes.

The USS _Theseus_ was not _built_ for this sort of warfare. It could defend itself, certainly, but the Theseus had never been meant for battle.

“We – we don’t know, Captain, there’s nothing appearing on the scans.”

Pike made a noise of frustration, turning towards his first officer. “Commander, are you picking up any meteorological phenomena?”

“No, Captain. Damage is consistent with a misfired photon torpedo.”

“ _Mis_ fired? I’d say it’s found its mark, Commander Spock.”

“If it found its mark, Captain,” Spock intoned, turning towards him, “Then the ship would have split down the middle.”

The color drained from Pike’s face.

At the time, Spock contained his sense of control. Panicking would not yield an optimal result; therefore, panicking was illogical. He could see the nervousness wound tightly in the junior officers surrounding the ship, though, in the way one’s leg kept jittering or the way one was insistently chewing at her fingernails or the way –

He had a job to do. Spock returned to his monitors, making a few quick commands to the science officers. Secure the specimens. Repair the damage. Call Engineering.

“Captain,” a small voice asked from the foot of the bridge, “I think we found them by adjusting the scanning frequency. Main viewscreen.”

On screen, in the surround view, a Romulan warbird flickered into focus, dark green and imposing. Although it was a good distance away, framed against the blackdrop of starry space, it was not far enough away for Spock’s liking.

“Hail them.” Pike’s voice was hoarse, as if he didn’t have the breath for it. “Hail them now.”

“They’re not responding to our hails, Captain.”

“Then fire _up_ the warp core and get us out of here.”

“Captain, with the damage in the science laboratories, performing a warp yields a high probability for damage among the structural pylons,” Spock advised him.

“Will the ship _hold,_ Commander?”

“If the science laboratories are sealed off, only they will be lost.”

“Give your men the order and tell them to get clear of it.”

It was strategically necessary. Spock went to his panel and altered the order, advising them to rescue what they could and to clear out immediately. The fail-safe doors would close, exposing the laboratory to the elements of space while keeping the rest of the ship secure.

Fear had not entered into Spock’s mind yet. He could sense the tension in the room, through his human abilities as much as his Vulcan ones. Right now, the only casualties would be plants and rocks, bacteria that had not been studied yet, mushrooms from unknown planets.

“Keep hailing. They’ve got to _want_ something, they can’t just keep hitting us like this.” Pike growled, and it was only then that Spock saw his nails digging into the arm of the Captain’s chair. “And fire up the warp core.”

“Captain, we are sensing energy fluctuations coming from their ship.” It was an ensign in front, a young woman who had only joined their ship some months ago. “They are preparing to fire another photon torpedo. Closing distance rapidly.”

Less distance between them would result in being harder to miss. If the torpedo hit somewhere integral to the ship systems, that would be it. They would not even have time to reach the escape pods.

That was about when Spock felt tension coiling in his stomach, though it was easily controlled as he waited for an order. “Just – “ Chris inadvertently spat, and he raised his arm to wipe against his mouth. “Try and get the shields up. Perform an upward maneuver. Main thrusters. _Now.”_

Everyone leaned over their consoles, including Spock. They all swayed in unison as the ship started to migrate upwards, and on the main viewscreen – a flash of light from the Romulan warbird.

A photon torpedo. Spock had never seen one actually being fired before. Simulations, certainly, and holovids, but it was so much worse in person.

He was only aware of the entire crew stiffening in their chairs before it collided.

It struck the bottom of the Theseus, enough to nearly send the ship on her head. The entire bridge reared upward like a bucking horse, sending a few stations stumbling to the floor. Pike received the worst of it. He landed a few feet from Spock’s station, where he only remained just barely sitting. There were indents in the metal from how hard he had gripped it.

Pike was hurt. He rolled onto his back, clutching at his leg. Not broken. Not broken, but definitely hurt.

“Engineering!” Pike barked into the communication badge, still splayed on the ground. “I need a status report! What was hit!”

At first, there was nothing. Something was holding their receiver down, as he could just hear an unusual … _roaring_ from the other side of the badge. “ _Engineering!”_

“The warp core has been hit, Captain.” It was T’Prak. Her voice was calm, unbothered, as if she were submitting a usual technical report. The roaring didn’t cease behind her. “It is unable to function.”

The two Vulcans on the ship. Spock had always felt kinship with them, even if he had never admitted it and would be frankly mortified to do so. They were not overly friendly with him, and did not include him in activities, but they did not do so out of malice. They did not consider him Vulcan, which was an opinion that had been shared by every Vulcan he met.

Still, he always felt an unusual burst of familiarity when he saw them. Perhaps because, aside from his mother, they were his only living remnants of home. Perhaps because he rarely got to see pointed ears these days. They were good.

He had tried to be familiar with them, at some point. But they kept to each other. Bondmates. Possibly even t’hy’la, though that was never polite to ask. He did not know why they had joined Starfleet, and was nowhere near comfortable asking them.

“Combustion of the warp core is imminent.”

“ _Fuck,”_ Pike growled under his breath, on his hands and knees before pushing himself to his feet. “How long do we have?”

Another voice. Sorit. “We will divert everything but life support to keep the energy of the core stable. We will be unable to move or access any systems on the ship. The escape pods will be functional, but – “

A boom swept through the _Theseus,_ sending the crewmembers rocking in their chairs again. Pike stumbled and caught himself against Spock’s shoulder.

“How _long_ until detonation, Engineer?” Pike barked into the badge, but they heard nothing. Fifteen seconds passed, and still, there was nothing. Spock had pulled up his console to check the status of engineering, but in that moment, the lights went out on the bridge.

Even the lights and alarm of red alert shut off.

The fear was becoming harder to control. On the viewscreen, the Romulan warbird continued their approach. They would need time to fire another volley, but with the ship unable to defend itself … they had time.

Unless the warp core detonated first.

Pike was back in his Captain’s chair. There was three seconds of tense, heady silence. The bridge crew just sat in the dark, regarding their Captain. _What shall we do, Captain? We await your order._

It was in that moment, seeing the realization and the acceptance on Pike’s face, that Spock understood. This was it. The decision that could end a Captain’s career.

“All crewmembers on the _Theseus_ ,” Pike leaned forward into the speaker, his hand touching his temple, “This is an evacuation order, effective immediately. Attend to your designated escape pod numbers. All divisions. Report now.”

All around him, the crewmembers stood. That was, perhaps, when the panic started to set in for Spock personally. Some went for the Jefferies tubes in an all-out sprint, others stumbled out of shock, and others yet had to be urged on by their companions.

Spock did not stand. He sat at his station, staring at Pike in the darkness. Pike returned his look with grim understanding. Truthfully, he had never felt more emotionally connected to the man than in that moment.

His fingers were still on his receiver. “Above all, remain calm,” he urged. “Starfleet is prepared for this, and I’m going to do my damnedest to get everyone home. Captain out.”

Pike’s expression did not change. A few more seconds passed where they met each others’ eyes, and in that moment, Spock did not think he could respect a man more than he did the one in front of him. He was proven wrong, when Pike split his lips in a small, sad smile.

“Well, Commander Spock?” He asked, gesturing towards the tubes leading out of the bridge. “Captain has to be the last off the bridge. Thought you’d quote that piece of regulation at me.”

The regulation was sound. Logically, Spock would follow it. But he could not force himself to get up and watch Pike in the Captain’s chair, alone. It was sentimental. Silly, even. But he could not allow his mentor to be alone.

“As your first officer, I also have a duty to protect you.” Spock stood from his position. “To satisfy both of those requirements, we should leave together.”

Pike nodded in agreement and stood, stumbling lightly from his hurt leg. Together, they left the bridge and went through the larger walkways to go down towards their respective escape pods. By the time they reached the corridors, they were cleared out. It was utter darkness. And, with the alarms off … silence.

An almost peaceful darkness. With no alarm, and far away from whatever chaos going on in engineering, Spock could almost imagine that he was on the _Theseus_ for the first time again, a _very_ young junior ensign with a Captain who did not betray the nervousness he felt in his words. A younger Spock had still felt it, when the Captain had casually touched his wrist to show him where his quarters were.

“Is everyone in their designated escape pod?” Spock asked as they turned a corner, both at a light jog. They saw nobody. Most doors remained open, stuck in place.

“You know as well as I do, Commander.” Pike punched his comm badge. “I think our comm systems just went out, too. God knows how much longer we have.”

Soon, they reached a fork in the corridor. Spock’s escape pod was down the corridor to the right, and Pike’s down the corridor to the left. It was generally considered an advantageous strategy to spread out the escape pods, in case one portion of the ship was unusable. Spock’s pod was with the rest of the science officer crew, where Pike’s was just off his quarters.

They were designated per family, with some holding as many as eight and others holding only one. Pike’s had enough for four, though Spock had never known him to have a family. Perhaps it was simply expected that a senior officer would have a family, as his own also had room for four.

“This is where we part ways. I’ll see you on the nearest starbase, okay?” Pike told him as they stopped at the fork, stopping to face him. He clapped a hand on Spock’s shoulder. “I’ll get you a beer.”

“Vulcans do not drink.” He did not know why he said it; it was hardly the time. Still, Spock corrected himself into something friendlier. “I will purchase one for you.”

“That a promise?”

“Yes, Captain. Vulcans always return when asked.”

Pike smiled at him again. “It’s been an honor to serve with you, Commander. Hell, to know you.” He removed his hand from Spock’s shoulder and raised his hand in a Vulcan salute, and it was only then, when Spock saw the trembling of his fingers, that Spock understood the depth of his fear. Their home was burning. “Live long and prosper, Spock.”

A Vulcan goodbye. Spock returned the salute and was about to open his mouth to utter the appropriate response, because he _did_ wish Pike to have both peace and a long life, before he almost doubled over in agony.

 _Terror._ Spock’s fingers went to his head. He had never felt this before. _Sheer terror. Uncontrolled. Violent. Decidedly not human, humans did not feel like this._ Additionally, he did not feel like this. This chaotic emotion, breaking through whatever meager attempt at control the user had, could belong to only one.

Or two.

He reached the conclusion easily.

“T’Prak and Sorit are in Engineering. They must be trapped,” Spock mumbled to himself, taking a step back. “I must –“

“No. No, Spock, I gave an order to evacuate. That includes –“

“I will return to my escape pod after. I will obey your order, Captain, but I _must_ assist.” Turning around, Spock started at an all out sprint. He knew where Engineering was by heart. He had the _Theseus_ schematic memorized. 

“ _Spock!_ Commander! I order you – god _damn_ it!” He heard Pike behind him, and then metal footfalls. No. Pike could not follow him, but Spock also could not abandon his pursuit in helping the Vulcans in engineering.

He would be fast. He would have time.

Pike’s footfalls, uneven due to injury, grew inaudible behind him as he rushed to Engineering. He had never felt anything from the two Vulcans on board before, to express non-contact emotion with someone you were not bonded to … the depths of their terror must have been intense.

The blast doors were shut. Inside, a fire raged, and Spock could not see anything inside, covered as it was by flame and smoke. At that point, Spock was half-senseless with concern, reaching for the terminal and inputting any code that he knew. He knew many, on the ship. One of them would have to override the blast doors, even if he could logically state that he had never heard of a code that could do such a thing before. Blast doors prepared for an explosion; there was no need to override them.

Behind the door, he could still feel their fear. They were trapped. They were trapped and there was no way of getting out, and they were going to die here, and _oh, Sorit, ashaya, T'nash-veh ashayam, please, please don’t leave this world, please._ It was hard to distinguish his thoughts and emotions from theirs, and that only heightened Spock’s tension. 

Agony. Anguish. Death. Enough to make Spock absolutely certain, for a moment, that he had been stunned. He saw white stars dance across his vision. His fingers paused on the pads before he continued inputting codes, and then he gave up, and simply began to pound his fist against the blast door.

He was causing large indentations. Maybe, if he kept it up, then maybe he make enough room for her to escape. He just had to keep – on – going.

There was a figure approaching the blast door window, smudged and dirty with soot and ash. The fire roared still, and as she got closer to the window, Spock felt a strange emotion emanating from her.

It had been the same he’d seen on Pike’s face, on the bridge. Pike, whose voice he could hear now, calling him and commanding him to return to his escape pods. He was getting closer.

She was accepting this.

“No,” Spock growled, banging on the door again. T’Prak did not move from the other side of the door. How many other members of Engineering did not make it out? Was she the only one to survive? Suddenly, Spock remembered how empty the corridors seemed, and for the first time, he considered that maybe some did not make it to their escape pods at all. “No! T’Prak! Assist me with the door!” A few more bangs. Spock’s hand collided with the window, shattering it into a thousand pieces. Green blood started to roll down his forearm, and Spock could not feel it.

With the window open, he could hear the pandemonium clearer. The fire raged and T’Prak just stood, staring at the door with a calm, indifferent expression. “Help me!” Spock pleaded with her. _Do anything. The door – it is weakening, I’m certain of it!_ Together, they would break down that door, and then …

Slowly, slowly, T’Prak raised her hand in a Vulcan salute. “Dif-tor heh smusma,” she spoke to him, voice overwhelmed by the fire, the second time he had heard the phrase in five minutes. Spock saw the flames start to overwhelm her like a wave, already travelling up her legs. She did not flinch. She did not cry out. She did not crumble.

“Spock, it’s too _late!”_ Suddenly, there was an arm wrapped around his torso. Dragging him back. Spock had not braced himself, and Pike succeeded in dragging him a few steps.

“ _No!”_ Spock howled at him, any semblance of control on his emotions gone. At the same time, an explosion blasted in Engineering. The blast door flexed against it, metal popping and creaking, and suddenly, fire started flickering out the broken window pane.

He searched himself. _Something. Her emotions had to be there._ Sorit’s had been gone for some time, but perhaps, maybe …

Nothing. There was nothing. She was gone. Spock’s air left him in a huff as he went limp, and suddenly, he was being dragged down the hallway. Pike was running, and Spock was stumbling beside him. He would go wherever he was guided.

Everything passed in a shock-filled blur. Suddenly, his arm was being grabbed, and he was being shoved forward, and his cheek hit the uncomfortable floor of …

Pike’s escape pod. A circular chamber, surrounding a central console. Pike went to the console and tapped at it furiously, and then the door to the escape pod shut. Spock stayed on the floor, stunned, as the escape pod disengaged with its connector shunt and blasted off into space. He could not move. He could not think. _T’Prak. Sorit._ Weakly, he tried to reach out for them in his mind, but he felt nothing. Only his father and mother, so dim and so, so, so very far away.

“Captain,” Spock huffed out, barely able to get his breath out of his lungs. He was gasping for air. Pike, meanwhile, went to go sit on the bench surrounding the floor of the circular chamber. He leaned forward, and put his head in his hands. “We have to return. There must be others we can save. If T’Prak and Sorit were alive, then we do not know if everyone – “

“Shut up, Spock,” Pike snapped at him with a violent fierceness, fixing him with a glare so hateful that Spock immediately grew quiet. His gaze returned to his hands. “Just, please. Shut up.”

Shaken, Spock pushed himself up onto the bench, feeling himself shudder once before his control started to return. _Control your emotions. Feel them, acknowledge them, but they will only harm you._ Spock took a breath and looked out the window.

Outside, the _USS Theseus_ was fracturing.

Spock could see escape pods – dozens, some just disengaging from the ship, some further out, but he did not think there was as many as there should have been. He only counted thirty-five, and there had been at least one hundred and fourteen aboard the _Theseus._

The ship itself was on fire, great flames visible from within the external hull. The main viewscreen on the bridge had fractured, leaving it open to the elements of space. The fire in Engineering was bigger than previously thought, and gigantic holes from the hull were visible from even there. Although the fire extinguished itself when it managed to climb outside of the hull, that did not prevent the structural integrity of the Theseus from failing. Spock watched as one of the necks of the nacelles collapsed, sending the warp engine spiraling away.

Large pieces floated away from the ship with an astonishing speed. Spock saw one collide with an escape pod and he had to remind himself _focus, control yourself, please,_ once more.

Then there was the Romulan warbird. Sleek, and positively undamaged. Spock felt hatred burn deep in his gut. _Focus._ They had no reason to. They were not violent. There had been children aboard.

Light formed around its weapon systems, the hum audible even from this distance, and Spock realized it was preparing to fire again. It was going to destroy the _USS Theseus_ for good. He was going to watch its destruction. His home.

 _Watch,_ Spock told himself, even if his body begged him not to. _You must know._

The third photon torpedo volley fired and hit the bridge of the _Theseus,_ straight through the broken viewscreen. It was enough to completely tear through the ship, exploding once it hit … yes, that was the residential deck. It roared, and quickly died into a terrifying rumble.

Pieces of the Theseus went hurtling into space from the impact. Some of the escape pods were in radius of the explosion, and Spock saw them get ripped apart by the shaking reverberation. Others still were hit by shrapnel. One crushed. One cleaved in two by a piece of the hull. A sensor array went hurtling by his own pod, missing it by five and a half – five – five inches. 

One escape pod gone. No, two, three, four, five … six? Spock could no longer see them as the escape pod went towards the nearest starbase. He moved away from the bench, his aggrieved face, begging for answers, turning to Pike.

Pike’s face was in his hands, fingertips pressed into his eyes. Spock could not blame him for not wanting to see.

He took a deep breath, focusing the hurricane of feelings inside of him. _You need control. You need to be able to handle this. It is logical. It is logical, and you need to be logical. To not attach emotion to this. You are Vulcan. You are able to withstand this. If you do not, you are not worthy of being called Vulcan._

For the first time since it happened, Spock became aware of his injured hand. There were still glass fragments embedded in it, some too small to see. Pain laced up his arm, and Spock focused that first. Identifying the pain and quarantining it in his mind.

Spock cradled his injured hand in his lap, attempting to staunch the bleeding against his blue uniform. The green started to stain it, and the pressure made him stiffen in pain, but it would work. It would last, albeit painfully, until they reached the starbase. There was nothing to be done about it now.

Settling himself and focusing on sectioning away the pain in his mind, Spock prepared for a long wait to the nearest starbase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The unheard of triple feature update!  
> Initially, this was just going to be a release of two chapters (because Chapter 21's a bit short on its own), but when I initially wrote this, Chapter 22 + 23 were tied together, so I just decided to hell with it and post them all. When I first started drafting out this fic, I wanted there to be a point where we physically see the traumatic event that happened in their lives -- for Jim, that happens relatively early on when Spock watches his court vid, and for Spock, that happens now through the mind meld.   
> Thank you all to those who have read/kudos'ed/commented on this fic! Does mean a lot, especially now as we're getting into the home stretch. I want to say there's four more weeks of updates? It might be condensed into three depending on how I want to group things. Either way, there's a rough estimate!


	24. Setting Off

On one of the catwalks overlooking the hangar bay, Pike was smoking. Smoking had mostly gone out of fashion by the twenty-second century, but Spock had noticed upon his arrival to Earth that some people enjoyed the sensation of it still. Pike did not often smoke, except in times of jubilation or crisis. Spock could not say for certain which occasion this fell under. He was looking straight off the catwalk, into the distance. Although Pike’s leg didn’t pain him much anymore, Spock noticed how he shifted to his good one still.

“She’s not the prettiest thing in the world,” Pike commented, gesturing to the shuttle. Two cadets were performing last flight checks; Spock had a suspicion it was for their own educational purposes. They were both seated in the same positions that him and Jim would be, in just a short time. “But she’ll get you there and back. You wanted to talk with me about something?”

Jim did not know he was here, but Jim was the inspiration for Spock calling this meeting. After Jim had fallen asleep, after the melding, Spock had thought about their time together. He remembered Jim’s sudden, impulsive question about going on a date. _I told myself that, if you came back after watching the trial, I’d ask you out._ Childish, in retrospect, but it had worked for Jim. The threat of risk.

_If I return back from this mission …_

“If possible,” Spock asked, “I would like you to place me on the crew roster for the _USS Enterprise.”_

He looked over at Pike, leaning over the railing. There was a half-grin forming over his face, and he nearly dropped his cigarette. He clapped one hand down on the railing and tuned to his former first officer.

“I’ll be damned, Commander. What changed your mind? Jim butter you up?”

Jim’s unrelenting support. Pike’s unrelenting prodding. The morbid fail-safe of the possibility that he may not return from this mission.

“I have struggled with the idea of going onboard a starship again. I believed, every time I failed, that it would inhibit me from space travel forever.” A pause. “I have been shown, through patient teaching, that I only needed the time, opportunity, and ambition to recover. I have recovered enough to return.”

He was being hugged.

Pike’s arms were around him before Spock could take an awkward step back, and he was only thankful that there was no skin contact. That would have been too much. He was nevertheless being _squeezed. That,_ he did not like, even if the force was too small to make an impact.

Pike seemed to realize that, as he stood back. The grin was still glued onto his face. “Sorry, I know you’re not … I shouldn’t have done that. I am just so _goddamn_ proud of you, Spock. How far you’ve come. I know you could do this.”

Spock only regretted, at that moment, he would not be serving under Admiral Pike again.

“Thank you, Admiral. Your words are appreciated.”

“You’re going to be so good at it. They’re the luckiest bastards in the world to have you, all of them. I’ll send you the crewlist as soon as I get it.” Pike was grinning wildly, tapping his cigarette against the railing as it burned down. There was a new fire in him, excitement that burned in his muscles. “You excited?”

“I do not express excitement in the same way that you do, Admiral.”

“Of course not. I bet you’re excited in there, though. Deep down, before the Vulcan emotional clamp tightens up.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at him. How … poetic.

“I’ll look after Jim. While you’re gone.”

That had been another point of concern and he was grateful Pike had brought it up. Jim was working under the impression that Spock would be on the _Enterprise_ anyway, so he did not think this would be a surprise to him, but …

Jim was going to be so lonely. Spock was grateful that they had not bonded, to spare him an additional physiological discomfort, but Spock was concerned nevertheless about his wellbeing. He was also concerned in a more self-absorbed way, because he would be waking up without Jim cuddling into his side. While he would have his duties and that would be enough, Spock could not help but shake the feeling he’d be boarding the starship with his heart already carved out of him.

“Please do,” he agreed. “We have talked about what would happen, if I were assigned. I have informed him that I will make a detailed schedule of contact as soon as I am aware of my schedule, but I will not be able to return to Earth for some time.”

“Yeah. He’s gonna miss you a lot.”

Spock knew. It made him sad, to think of Jim in his bed, alone.

“You two are good together, though. I never thought I’d say something like that, but you are. You fit, you know. Like you’re meant to be. Ups and downs, you guys are always glued together eventually.”

Frowning, Spock wanted to dismiss that idea. Him and Jim’s meeting had been a serious of statistically anomalous circumstances, and, through another set of statistically anomalous circumstances, they happened to be very well suited for one another. It sounded as if Pike believed in _t’hy’la._ Which was … unlikely, at best.

He would let Pike think it, though. “He is without flaw,” Spock nonetheless agreed.

“I wouldn’t go _that_ far. He’s made some mistakes.”

Spock considered it for a moment, before realizing … yes, dwelling in the rose-tinted world was not logical. “Many,” Spock murmured. “But his character is nonetheless exceptional, out of everyone I have ever met. He is an inspiration to me personally, and the world at large. The pardon is progressing?”

“Yeah. I’m still sorting through the evidence with the Admiralty. It is, to use a technical term, a fucking doozy. I’m sure I’ll have some more news for you two when you get back.” Pike leaned up from the railing and cracked his back, groaning. “God, I’m getting old.” Spock considered prying more into it, but there were larger issues to be concerned with. Like returning to space and finding the blackbox of a traitorous Commander.

He could let himself relax a _little._

“You have many more years of youthful naivete left, Admiral.”

“Hey, I didn’t allow you to make jokes,” Pike teased him nonetheless, offering a smile. “I’ll let you go get set up. Give my best to the boyfriend. And good luck, the both of you. I don’t have any doubts.”

-

“All systems are optimal, Mr. Kirk. We have life support functionality for two-hundred and fifty more hours, and we are approved for approach to Mu Epsilon IV, a class-M planet, in thirty-six minutes. Although the surface of the planet sustains life, the upper atmosphere is quite hostile due to the astrothermal venting from the planet.”

“Spock,” Jim groaned next to him, leaning forward and setting his head on the console. “ _Babe._ I know. You don’t have to remind me every hour.”

“It’s Starfleet regulation to make hourly updates.”

“But there’s no update! It’s the same thing! You’re explaining the same thing to me, same words, same inflection, same thing!” Jim turned his head, just enough to peek at Spock in agony. “You’re killing me.”

Reaching forward, Spock made a mild adjustment to their course. Eventually, Jim leaned back in his chair. He raised his arm and slid it around Spock’s shoulders. Spock supposed he could relent and allow that, even if it was flagrantly disobeying regulation. “I was under the impression you enjoyed the sound of my voice.”

“I do! You know I do.” Jim sighed, and Spock could feel his eyes on his face. Spock was smug. “Could you at least call me Captain? Feels like I’m a cadet in your class, calling me Mr. Kirk.”

“The pardon has not gone through, yet. I am also the captain of this shuttle.”

“Don’t remind me. How about Jim, then? Can you call your boyfriend ‘Jim’?”

“Very informal in a spacecraft.” Spock had to resist the urge to wrinkle his nose as Jim leaned over to kiss his cheek. At the skin contact, Spock felt Jim’s nervousness in him, sedated by a heady excitement. They were approaching the planet soon. Then, they’d go into the planet’s orbit, beam down, and … hopefully, end this, once and for all. The thought that this matter would be truly put to bed was intoxicating.

“Though, I should let you get it out of your system, all these updates. You’ll be doing it a lot on the _Enterprise_.”

Jim’s stalwart confidence in him touched him, as it always did. After Spock had shown him his memory of the _Theseus_ , Jim had been more gentle than he’d ever seen him. He had held Spock as he shook from the memory, whispered reassuring nonsense until he finally went limp with exhaustion, had fell asleep with Spock in his arms.

Sharing the memory had helped. Sharing the memory with someone who loved him, and comforted him through it, had helped even more. Now, when the memory crept into his mind unbidden, it was colored with Jim’s loving touch. He dwelled in that, before turning to confess to Jim.

“On that topic, I talked with Pike before we left,” Spock commented lowly. “To make the final request to be placed on the _Enterprise_.”

“Ha! I knew you would. Spock, can’t even begin to tell you how good you’ll be on there. Five years? Man, it’ll go by in a flash.” Jim told him, letting out a dreamy sigh. Somehow, Spock didn’t think that was the case. Five years was long without his loved one. Jim’s excitement was soothing, though. “You’ll have to make your communication schedule, or … whatever you called it. I want to experience every second with you.”

Jim was optimistic, at least. Spock shifted one hand over to grasp Jim’s hand, once, before returning to the navigational console. The intimate contact washed over Spock. There was no anger in Jim, no regret, no guilt in Spock’s decision. “I will share as much as I am able. You have my promise on that.”

“Good. My boyfriend’s the first officer of the _flagship of Starfleet._ Man. This is the first time I’ve ever been a trophy boyfriend. I’ve always had the looks for it.” Spock could extrapolate the meaning of the term, and it made little sense even then. He noticed that Jim was carefully avoiding talking about the mission ahead. They hadn’t even discussed a plan.

Jim was deferring to him, anyway. He had more experience with planet exploration. Spock had a phaser equipped to his wrist, as well as a tricorder for scanning capabilities. The surface was stable. Beaming to the planet, setting a timer to beam back up, and completing their mission in the timeframe … doable?

It would have to be doable. They were coming onto the planet, and soon, it would be a reality.

The planet came into view, taking up the entirety of the front viewscreen of the shuttle. Spock could not look away, even if he wanted. Jim’s mouth gaped.

“Holy hell, that’s Petunia. If Jo could see this now,” Jim whistled beside him.

The planet was somewhat smaller then Earth, but comprised of brilliant hues of red, orange, yellow. The surface of the planet mostly appeared to be a desert biome, though Spock did see a few jagged mountain ranges cracking it open. He saw no water, no green. The scans had indicated the planet capable of life, though, presumably, perhaps not _much_ life.

Against the black backdrop of space, the planetary body seemed as polished and round as a marble. Interesting.

What were more concerning had been what Jim had affectionally called the petals of the flowers. The astrothermal vents were more active and _faster_ than Spock had anticipated. One sprang up from the surface, seemingly reached out towards the heavens, and quickly collapsed back onto the planet. It took less than twenty seconds in total. The power behind it must have been intense, spouting from deep within the planet core. Spock suddenly became very, very aware of how Finney’s small shuttle had been captured by one. They were hard to avoid and almost impossible to predict.

He imagined the shuttle being encapsulated by the vent’s flame, slowly being dragged down, _down_ into the abyss …

He had expected _time._ If he could not predict where the vents would erupt, he could not accurately position the shuttle somewhere. Someone would have to be in the shuttle, constantly moving it, constantly making certain to avoid the intensely high temperatures of the vent. Otherwise, they risked the shuttle being captured while they were on the planet.

The solution was simple – someone had to remain on the shuttle.

It would be a position of high stress and high danger.

“Spock,” Jim muttered beside him, taking his arm back from behind Spock. He ran his hands over his face.“You know what we have to do.”

Spock had not realized that he was forcing down a tremble in his hands. Jim would have to go down, alone. He would have to be on the planet alone. Find the shuttle alone, and survive, alone. Spock could not protect him.

“I told you that I could not leave you alone.”

The reaction was immediate and instinctual. Not only did the thought of being the only person in charge of keeping the shuttle intact terrify him, but Jim would have to beam down. _On his own_. On a planet that had not received a visiting team yet.

Jim put a hand on his knee, facing him. His eyes were solemn.

Spock knew. Spock knew, in this circumstance, Jim was being more rational. They were both capable of completing their mission, bar anything monstrous hiding on the surface. And piloting the shuttle would be stressful, but Spock knew he was capable of it.

“Jim,” Spock spoke again, hand going on his shoulder.

“It’s a quick trip, Spock. Three hours of trying to find a trace of the shuttle with the tricorder, then I’ll be back up. I’ll let you know when I’m ready. Promise,” he informed him with a smile. Spock could feel that it was forced. “You’re going to be okay, up here. It’s a tiny shuttle, and you’ve got the most control out of anyone I know. Three hours. I’ll be able to tell you when I need to come back up. Then it’s Earth, the pardon, and the rest of our lives.”

Bar flying back to Earth right now, there was no other option for their continued survival. Spock knew that. He saw how much faith Jim had in him, and how much faith he had in Jim, and supposed that, even if it was not entirely the truth, he could put up the façade of having faith in himself.

He leaned forward to kiss Jim, but Jim had already swept in. He pulled Spock in for a close kiss at the front of the shuttle, and again, Spock detected that nervousness in him. The fear. The love. The kiss was hard and deep, and Jim’s hand was desperately clutching at Spock’s hair before he pulled himself away. Spock had the distinct feeling that Jim would have stayed there for much longer, if possible.

“Not that this is a goodbye,” Jim murmured, “But I just wanted to tell you that you’re the love of my life.”

T’hy’la. The word pressed against Spock’s lips as the realization came to him – yes, perhaps Jim was his t’hy’la. The relationship hadn’t lasted for years, some months only, but he felt certain in his assessment. Perhaps it _was_ predetermined. Perhaps Pike held some empathic ability after all.

The word didn’t come out. It felt too ominous, at that moment, even if Spock didn’t believe in actions such as tempting fate. “I love you,” he responded nonetheless, and the overwhelming joy that course through Jim indicated that he had responded in a very pleasant manner. Good. Spock had meant it.

“I’ll see you back here, the conquering hero.” Jim climbed out of his chair, extracting himself from their embrace as he went to the small transporter pad. “Alright. Beam me down, Spock.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> I've solidified the end date! Two more updates of two chapters each. Since this has been going on since July, it's a bit odd for me to think about the end. And now, our intrepid adventurers (or at least our one intrepid adventurer) goes to solve the mystery once and for all.   
> Thank you to all who have stuck with me this far, who have read or left comments or kudos - it's always nice to know I'm not speaking in an echo chamber.   
> Have a good rest of your week, and I'll see you next Sunday.


	25. Hello, Captain

God, this place was fucking hot. To be expected, given the desert surrounding him on all sides. Gigantic dunes, higher than the buildings at the Academy, towered over him. It made climbing a hell and a half.

Jim felt the sandy heat seep into his bones as soon as he beamed down, looking around on the dense, unforgiving horizon. _Capable of sustaining life?_ Jim thought to himself. _Might want to re-think that Class-M designation._ Sure, maybe with a few vivospheres, a few decades of planning, maybe it’d be livable.

But as Jim took out his scanner and started to walk, he thought that it sure as hell wasn’t any place that he’d want to live in. It didn’t take long for his legs to start to protest at him as he crossed dune after dune.

Occasionally, he found his gaze drifting to the sky. Spock’s shuttle was somewhere up there, floating in space, bobbing along with the natural orbit of the planet. Staying _just_ out of reach of the vents. Spock would be okay. He had seen the look of uncertainty crossing Spock’s face when he had beamed down, but he felt confident. Spock was a natural in a shuttle. Maybe not a natural – he had a feeling Spock hadn’t forgotten a damn thing he’d learned in the Academy – but a goddamn expert, for sure.

Jim preferred to only remember the important things. So, about 60%. He felt guilty for leaving Spock up in the shuttle alone, given his history, but Spock could do this. Jim felt that, to his core.

Reliving the memory of the _Theseus_ breaking up had solidified that for him. Spock just needed to keep his head on his shoulders, and he would be okay.

Every so often he’d cross a dune that would overlook gigantic gaping cracks in the ground. Sand poured into the edges, falling to depths unknown. They belched forward an immense heat, enough to make Jim dizzy, and – once – when Jim walked by, he heard the sound of a cracking gunshot. Fluorescent lava erupted forward in a straight shoot, going straight up into the atmosphere, far past where Jim could see. It had Jim scrambling backward and running for safety. A smart decision, because as the lava started to fall back to Petunia, it splattered against the desert like rain.

 _Yeah,_ Jim thought to himself grimly, hurriedly yanking off his uniform shirt when he noticed that he had not entirely escaped the lava rain, _I’m looking for a body. There’s no way he could’ve survived down here._

As he walked, Jim continued chewing his piece of gum. After a while, it became unbearably tasteless. He debated spitting it out, but littering on a mostly-unexplored planet was a gigantic Starfleet no-no. God knew it’d be just his luck that one spit out piece of gum could disrupt the entire ecosystem. So he just grunted in frustration, stuck the gum in his cheek, and kept walking.

An Earth hour passed, and Jim realized the sun was starting to set. The sun was strikingly familiar to Earth, if a bit smaller and whiter, Jim theorized. There was no corresponding moon, and for a second, Jim worried that he’d be in utter darkness on this planet surface, with nothing to light his way.

That was not the case.

As the sun finally dipped below the horizon, Jim looked up to see the sky shining.

Not all the vent plasma had fallen back to the surface. Some, it appeared, had remained caught in the planet’s orbit, staying fixed in place. A thick band of blue-purple-green hugged the planet, casting a glow over Jim’s face and the surface as he walked.

It was beautiful. His own personal _Aurora Borealis-_ esque lightshow.

God, he had missed this feeling. He had missed being the only one that had ever set foot on the planet, the only pair of eyes that had ever experienced what a planet had had to offer. How utterly _quiet_ it was as he walked across the surface, led only by the rhythmic beeping of his scanner. The feeling that, whatever else happened, he would always have _this._

Soon, Jim told himself, he’d get this again. Maybe not quite like this, maybe not an exploration vessel. He can’t imagine he’d get any particularly big or flashy assignment as soon as he got pardoned, with how long he’d been out of the game, but he could work his way up. It was a setback, but he had, at one point, been the youngest Captain in the ‘Fleet. He was just losing his head start a little, that was all, but all he wanted was to be in the stars.

And … huh. He hadn’t had a drink since before they’d left Earth. A while before that, now that he thought of it. Maybe a week. The week leading up to it had been spent planning and having sex with Spock and planning and trying to make sure neither of them would die doing this, and he just hadn’t had the time. And he’d been chewing gum constantly all the while. Spock hadn’t commented on it, other than to _please, please please_ stop chewing with his mouth open.

That was a win, for sure. Jim grinned at himself. The scanner beeped up at him, indicating a hit.

“ _Starfleet property identified. Item Identification: Type 15 Shuttle Blackbox.”_

Great. He was starting to get a little low on water. “Identify location.”

A topographical map of the area flickered on the scanner’s holopad, as well as an arrow pointing him in the general direction. Jim started to walk, checking the timer – he had been on the planet for an hour and a half. And hopefully Spock wasn’t driving himself into madness up there.

He walked for another half hour before he started to get anywhere close to the shuttle. At first, the entire planet was covered in a silvery glow and he couldn’t quite see what he was looking at – and then –

There it was. A Type 15 shuttlepod. Spock and himself had flown in a Type 6, himself – more comfortable, safer, sensor arrays, emitter arrays, shield capabilities, transporter arrays. Sometimes they were outfitted to be travelling labs orbiting new planets, but, given how small they still were, Jim had never really been a fan of shitting where he worked.

When Jim approached the shuttle, he could start to see the finer details. His fingers pressed against his mouth in shock.

Finn’s shuttle looked _wrecked._

The hatch on the back was open, which wasn’t unusual – but the loading doors, blown a few feet away, definitely were. Jim felt his stomach sink. Shit. No sign of a body – though, he figured after some time, he guessed he should really be looking for a skeleton. _If_ the fauna of the ecosystem hadn’t gotten to him first.

 _That’s that,_ Jim thought to himself, approaching the shuttlepod, _Finney, you crazy son of a bitch._ Crashed onto the surface of the planet. If not dead on impact, a very slow, terrifying way to die. No Prodigal, no return, just the slow death of a man who had a family waiting for him at home.

He took a few photos as he approached. This would have to be recorded for the Federation, to finally put the matter to bed. Spock would want to see it, too. Jim couldn’t wipe the grim expression from his face as he did so, finally getting close enough to run his hand on the dusty, battered hull. With a dull thud, Jim stepped onto the shuttle. The landing platform buckled under his weight, but held.

As he walked on, some monitors flickered to live in front of him. _Huh._ Some of these things could work off of solar energy, but Jim didn’t think they’d be functional for over a year like this. He stepped forward towards the front of the shuttle, bypassing the sleeping area entirely.

A photo of Finn’s kid was on the navigational console, wrinkled and faded.

He couldn’t do this. Tears pricked his eyes, and Jim immediately went to pinch the bridge of his nose to stop them. None escaped. “I,” he muttered to nobody in particular, “I need a minute,” he croaked hollowly.

Finney had tried to frame him for murder. Ruin his life. Maybe Finn wanted Jim to commit suicide. Sure, Jim knew that now. But Finney was also the guy he’d met in the Academy, the guy he’d stumbled home with at nights, the guy he’d spent all night in the library with, the guy he’d introduced to his _wife._ And hell, that had just been the Academy. He’d been an ensign on the same ship as him. His workstation had been right next to his. Finney had put up a picture of his kid up there, too, when she’d been born. He still remembered how Finney would jokingly turn to Jim, jerk a thumb towards the photo, and chastise Jim for swearing in front of something so perfect.

“Damn it, Finn,” Jim growled, stepping further into the shuttle. He had to investigate more. There was a thud as he walked further on the old, yielding metal, and then other as he moved his other foot.

Then there was another thud.

Jim ducked instinctually, just enough time for a phaser blast to sail over his head. It hit one of the online consoles, sending a shower of sparks to the ground. In one fluid movement, he turned around, facing the guy blocking the only exit of the shuttle.

“Finn,” Jim said, breathless. “How …?”

“Hello, _Captain_ ,” Finney snarled, standing at his full height. He was … skinny. Scraps of an old Starfleet uniform hung around him raggedly, clearly patched with some fibrous plant material that Jim hadn’t seen on the planet before. There were healed-over scars criss-crossing his skin, a few lesions that had never been healed functionally. “You never missed an opportunity to take off your shirt.”

The quip sailed over his head as Jim stared, gawping, at his former friend. The one he had been absolutely positive he’d never seen again, the one he had missed … just, so much.

“You’re … alive?” He took a step forward, staggering somewhat as he willed for strength in his legs. “Finn. How the hell did you –”

Him raising his phaser again made Jim dive to the side, slamming himself against the side of the wall. Adrenaline kicked in. _Fight now. Talk later._ He felt another phaser sail over his shoulder ( _Finn was never the best at aiming)_ as he launched himself towards his assailant.

Jim collided with him, sending them both to the ground. They rolled down the access walkway of the shuttle, landing in the dusty sand of the planet. Both Finn’s and Jim’s phaser went flying, but Jim couldn’t raise his head to see where they’d fallen. He got the upper hand when they came to a stop. Jim pinned him to the ground, hovering over his body.

Even in the midst of the tousle, the natural phenomena of the planet continued. The vents rocketed lava out into the planetary atmosphere, setting a dangerous backdrop to their fight.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here?” Finn snarled at him.

“Why the fuck are you calling yourself _Caligula?”_ A neatly aimed boot at his kidney had Jim groaning and going slack. Finn stood to the feet and aimed a boot at Jim’s side. _Stronger than he looks._ “It’s …” he wheezed, forcing himself to his feet before Finn could get another foot in. “Such a stupid name.”

“You ruined my life.”

“It was a _promotion,_ Finn! Jesus Christ, you’d get yours eventually!”

“Not that!” Jim ducked a punch from him, throwing up his own hands in defense. _Good old fashioned brawling._ Jim kept light on his feet. “This!” He threw his arm out, gesturing to the desolate landscape. “All this is your goddamn fault!”

“Are you fucking _crazy!?”_ Jim already knew the answer to that question. He got another hit against Finney’s side, setting the man reeling. “You – you were my first officer, you were going places! A wife, a kid – and you threw it all away because, what!”

“Because _someone_ had to show the world that Jim Kirk is just a shithead kid from _Iowa!”_ Jim groaned in pain as he felt a punch land squarely on his jaw. “That never should’ve been made Captain! He’s not perfect and he’s certainly not a fucking god, despite how Starfleet acts!”

“So you decided to do that by lying? Trying to pretend you, what, died? And coming back, like I couldn’t even _kill_ you right?” Jim spat at him, gesturing to the rest of the planet. “How’d that work out for you?”

That seemed to piss Finney off enough.

Finney roared at him in fury, barreling into him. Jim felt himself going backward into the sand again, his head slamming uncomfortably against the packed particles. _Ow._ Shit. He saw stars for a second, but received no mercy as Finney started to rain blows around his torso. His hand reached out, trying to find some sand to throw in his eyes.

As he searched, his hand brushed against the handle of the phaser. Fumbling for it, Jim felt the power dial. The dial was turned all the way to the right – lethality. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised to know Finney had been aiming to kill.

Up close like this, Jim could recognize what used to be his friend. There was still the rugged jaw that had gotten a lot of woman during the Academy, the burning brown eyes that he often saw reflected in his workstation, the hair that hid a large forehead.

But here, on the planet, seeing his burnt up shuttle … it was becoming increasingly easy to see the man who had betrayed him, framed him for murder, and ruined his life.

Especially as Finney reached up to start choking him, frenzy in his eyes. His thumbs flexed against his throat, slowly, achingly slowly crushing his windpipe. Jim tried to breathe in, to get _some air into his system,_ but couldn’t.

This wasn’t his friend, anymore. The Finney he knew was long gone. In his place was a guy who didn’t deserve to lick the real Finney’s shoes.

“Not … perfect,” Jim wheezed. “Just a … guy. Ask anyone. Just … good team.”

Jim worked the piece of gum into his front teeth and spat it directly at Finney’s face. Finney made a noise of disgust as his grip loosened, and Jim knew he only had a very small window of opportunity to act.

He got a loose hold on the phaser grip. Jim fumbled with the dial to change it to stun shot Finney squarely in the chest.

It was only just in time. Jim had started to see the edges of his vision go black. Too much deliberating and he would’ve been gone for good. While it would’ve been a hell of an end to the story, he had a guy up in a shuttle waiting for him.

The impact of it made Finn jolt backward, once, before collapsing onto Jim’s chest.

It was hard to breathe, but not impossible. Jim gasped out, his former best friend unconscious on his chest. He placed his hands at his own throat, trying to feel the damage. Even if he couldn’t get enough air into his system, he was _alive._

Alive. _Alive._ Just like Finney was, still. Somehow, he’d survived on the planet for this long. Jim had no idea how he’d done it, but Fnin was another farmkid. He was resourceful, and intelligent, and could probably find some way to live. He would’ve gone far in Starfleet. Just … got an idea in his head. A really, really bad idea.

He reached for the commbadge that Spock had given him, fumbling for the receiver. It was time to go home. More importantly, Jim wanted to see the love of his life again.

“Hey.” _God,_ his voice sounded like shit. He coughed out, trying to swallow as much as he could. He succeeded in nothing but inhaling some sand, and he chugged water to make up for it. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Jim.” Wow, that sounded like Spock was talking through tinfoil. The atmo must’ve been interfering with the signal. “Are you unhurt? Are you – _fzzt!_ – do you need – “

It cut out, suddenly. Jim groaned, shaking the commbadge uselessly as he tried to get a hold of him again. He was so tired that he couldn’t even be afraid that he just wouldn’t be able to pick up Spock’s signal. Two more minutes later, Spock’s voice cut in. “I adjusted the signal. It should be stronger, now. Do you require transportation?”

Lovesick admiration weaved his way through his bruised body. “Yeah. Um, two, actually.”

There was a pause, long enough that Jim worried it had cut out again. “Babe? Not to sound whiny, but I would kind of like to get off the planet.”

“Two?”

“Yup. Me and Commander Finney. Uh, ex-Commander Finney. He’s unconscious. I’ll … I’ll explain later.” Jim released the hold on his receiver, letting his head fall back into the sand. When he wasn’t being slammed into it, it made a comfortable enough pillow. He stared up at the sky, watching the beautiful swaths of color encircling the planet, _glowing_ against him and Finney and the planet. Upturned sand covered the scene of their fight, though Jim felt like most of it was on and in his clothing.

Past the glowing bands, Jim saw thousands of small stars glittering at him, shining through. The entirety of the galaxy was up there. Countless people.

And, somewhere, up there, Spock. And, farther out, Earth.

He wasn’t sure if the adrenaline was wearing off, or if everything was just getting to him, but for a second, Jim wondered if this was what it felt like to be done. Regardless, it felt like an ending. The nightmare, this entire goddamn nightmare of his life, was over.

It was over. Over, in the best way that it could have ended. He’d get to be on a starship again – _any_ starship. Finney had tried to ruin his life, and failed. And Jim wasn’t bringing a body back home to Starfleet, but an actual, breathing, living person. Even in jail, Jamie would get to see her father again.

As the golden transport beam started to wrap around him, enveloping both of the figures on the planet, Jim smiled.


	26. Hello, Captain (again)

Jim hadn’t spoken much, beyond simply reiterating what had transpired down the planet. Spock hadn’t asked any follow-up questions, seeing the look on Jim’s face. Finney was placed in the cargo hold, a makeshift but adequate brig in the back. Spock had a biosensor near him; it would register any changes, including his consciousness.

Jim’s silence did not worry him. Spock could not imagine what he was sensing, what emotions he was feeling, and it would be a gigantic invasion of privacy to feel for himself.

He had worried over the injuries apparent on Jim, at first. Bad bruises on his throat, a growing bruise on his cheekbone, a few cuts and a few burns on his chest from impacting the sand dunes. They could be taken care of, but Jim had seemed intent on getting home as quickly as possible.

Given their prisoner in the back, Spock only agreed. Jim would not die if his bruises were left alone.

“You did a good job,” Jim mumbled hoarsely, turning around to face Spock. “I don’t – sorry. I’m just sorting through this, in my head. But I don’t want to take away from you handling a spacecraft, on your own, in a non-ideal situation.”

“I do not need thanks.”

“I’m not thanking you. Just telling you, that … “ A smile split Jim’s face, not reaching his eyes, as he reached over and took his wrist. It was bare.

The emotions Spock felt from Jim were complicated, but that was one of the beauties of Jim’s mind. Even with their complication, Spock did not feel as if they were indecipherable. He felt them as keenly as if they were his own, and, now, he felt sorrow for his partner. Jim was content, but hollow.

Overwhelmed. That was the primary emotion. And still, Jim was trying to _comfort_ him? Spock was touched.

“Couldn’t have done this without you, Commander.”

“Do you feel relieved?” Spock asked, eyes returning to the central viewscreen. “That we went to Petunia?”

Jim took his hand back, staring ahead into space with Spock. As Spock tilted his head to look at his partner’s face, he saw space reflected in his eyes. “Ask me … ask me that later, okay? I don’t know how to answer that, right now.”

Adequate. It had been incredibly unexpected, all of this. And unexpectedly dangerous, in ways they hadn’t planned for. Still, Spock was grateful that Jim had returned alive and safe. When he had first heard Jim, wheezing and staticky, panic had struck him to his core. _No. I can’t lose Jim. I would rather never return to Earth than lose Jim._ Then the communication had cut off, and Spock had almost given in to it.

Then, peculiarly, the usual bonds that kept him frozen in place weren’t there. Spock had simply leaned away from the communication system, reaching for his tools, and made a small improvement to the communication array. He had popped open the plating, gotten down onto his hands and knees, and made a few small adjustments.

He hadn’t broken down, he hadn’t been immobile, he hadn’t cried or worried or been violent.

It had felt … good. It felt even better having his partner on the shuttle with him, certainly, but it felt good to be in control of himself.

Now, the only thing that concerned him about going onboard the Enterprise was his absence from Jim. He had missed him on the planet, and that had only been several hours. The prospect of missing him for several years was daunting, though Spock had a duty to Starfleet and the Federation.

They would manage, together. Spock could not doubt that.

They travelled in contemplative silence for a little while longer, entering Earth’s star system. Spock notified Starfleet that they were returning, and he could feel Jim behind him starting to relax in his seat as they neared Earth.

His communicator started to beep loudly. An incoming message. Jim jolted to life beside him, rising out of his chair in shock.

“Oh. Uh, it’s Bones. Hopefully nothing’s –” Before he could finish his sentence, Jim had fished the communicator out of his pocket to answer it. Spock turned to look at watch him. “Hey, Bones.”

“Dr. McCoy, hello. We are just entering Earth’s star system.”

“ _Jim,_ you sound like you swallowed a pack of nails _._ And good to hear from you, too, Spock,” Bones’ voice filtered into the cabin, and Jim placed his communicator on the sensor dashboard, to Spock’s chagrin. _If the shuttlepod crashes, that will be launched at several hundred miles an hour through your skull, Jim._ “How’d it go? You inhale something you shouldn’t have, Jim?”

Spock and Jim shared a look. He could read it in his lover’s face – _ask me later, okay?_ “Heh. Good. I’ll give you all the dirty details when I see you again,” Jim joked. That was a deception, Spock was pretty sure, but Jim lied fairly frequently. Not out of malice, nor even to keep the truth to himself, but because it would be easier for the other person to digest it. Spock did not consider that a fault.

Bones made a disgusted noise on the other side. “He is being facetious, Dr. McCoy,” Spock responded, though he did not clarify the situation further. Commander Finney being alive was something that had to be expressed through official channels. “It is beneath him.”

“That’s what you have to look forward to on the _USS Enterprise,_ Bones. Commander Killjoy.”

“At least I lost the title of ‘Commander Killjoy’. I’ll give it to the hobgoblin any day,” Bones grumbled good-naturedly. “Gotta say, I’m really enjoying not having to drag your ass home from bars anymore. You’ve come a long way, Jim. I mean that more than literally.”

Although Bones could not see it in a purely audio medium, Spock could see Jim was effected. His eyes pricked with tears, but he could not wipe them without transferring some of the sand that covered his body. Spock reached for a clean rag, passing it over to Jim. Jim took it gratefully and dabbed at his face.

Still, he let out a half-laugh, trying to deflect the conversation. “If you just called me to flirt, I got bad news, Bones. Spock is _way_ hotter than you _and_ he actually wants to fuck me.”

Spock made a noise that died in his throat, one of offense. He shot a withering look to Jim. He had gotten used to Jim’s comments that would be almost uproariously inappropriate in Vulcan culture, though he only permitted them in very specific circumstances. Seeing Jim finally start to relax, Spock considered this to be one of those circumstances.

“Please, Spock’s done the world a favor. He’s the only guy that could put up with everything you’ve got going on.”

“Jim is an excellent partner,” Spock broke in. “He has a spirit exceptional in its selflessness, generosity, and humor.”

The look Jim gave him displayed a little of how difficult the day had been for Jim – surprise and sweet adoration. He ran his hand across Spock’s back, once, a silent show of sentiment. “Hear that, Bones? Spock says I’m _funny.”_

“You go on like that and I’m just hanging up, and you’ll find out when you get here.”

“Find out what?”

“I just got out of the courtroom. Feels like I live in this courthouse these days.” Bones let out a breathy half-laugh, more a nervous gush of air. “The pardon passed, Jim. You’ve got your position, your credentials back – in full. Full honors. You’re back in Starfleet, Captain.”

Jim looked like he couldn’t get all the air in the world back to him. He leaned over the console, almost as if he intended to put his head between his legs. His forehead pressed against the flat surface of the dashboard. “Y-yeah?” He asked, voice small. “Yeah? They did it? It … I’m back?”

“Yeah, Jim. I’ve got the news before the media bloodsuckers get a look at it – I wanted you to find out from someone you knew, and Pike’s off doing … something, I don’t know. I think he’s still in there.”

Spock had a lump in his throat. So _soon._ He knew it would happen, but he had thought the process would get bogged down in the familiar bureaucracy of Starfleet. Jim clearly had friends – or, at the very least, people who admired him – in Starfleet. He swallowed, eyes lasered in on Jim.

An injustice had been undone.

“I’m a Captain again. I’m a – goddammit, Spock, Bones, I’m a _Captain_ again. It’s been a year, I never thought I’d – I never … “

“Far cry from the sad drunk I found in an alley,” Bones stated over the receiver, and, if Spock didn’t know any better from the good doctor, he would say that the doctor himself was near tears, too.

Spock himself was not. That did not mean the joy he felt for Jim didn’t fill the core of his being, to the tips of his fingertips and the bottom of his heels. He looked over at Jim, looked at the way he slumped over, looked at the way he was trying not to cry.

“You deserve this, Jim,” Spock reassured, affection coloring his tone. “A wrong has been righted. It is only logical that it would turn out this way.”

“ _Jesus,”_ Jim mumbled to himself. “I thought – I was just gonna drink and die somewhere, knew it as soon as I heard the verdict. But you – Bones, I mean, god, you kept me alive, and you, Spock, I mean, _honey.”_

The pet name was appreciated, but Spock disagreed. “You are detracting from yourself, Jim. If you did not make me aware of how illogical it was that a man such as yourself would kill his friend in cold blood, I would never have continued my involvement with you after our first meeting,” Spock reassured, “ _You_ helped me find the location of this planet. _You_ went down yourself to investigate. _You_ recovered, because you knew you _must_.”

Jim audibly swallowed next to him, and suddenly, as Jim leaned up like a springboard, Spock was being hugged. It was not sexual in nature, nor even particularly romantic – he was being hugged as tightly as Jim could allow, his head mashed against Spock’s chest. The action naturally pulled Spock away from a console ( _a grievous travel error),_ but he subtly lowered the speed of the shuttle pod and hugged Jim in return.

His fingers found their way in Jim’s hair, holding Jim’s skull close. Jim’s body was warm, and Spock did not want to think of a day where he could not hold it.

“I’m so grateful for you,” Jim mumbled. “I … I just …” He seemed to notice that the communicator was still on. Bones had fallen silent, whether out of awkwardness or allowing Jim to absorb the information. “I just have a really great team. Isn’t that right, Bones?”

“If you think I take orders from you, Jim, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Love you, too, buddy.”

“Yeah. I love you, too, Jim, and you’re never going to hear me say that again, so you better appreciate it.” There was the distant sound of a door creaking open. “Pike’s just getting out, and he looks – huh. He looks excited about something. I’ve got to go make sure that they don’t make this a media nightmare for when you get back.”

“Goodbye, Dr. McCoy. Thank you for informing us,” Spock told him, still held in Jim’s embrace. It was only a few seconds after the communication ended that Jim released him, allowing him to return to his console. Spock upped the speed of the shuttle. Now, there was every reason to hurry. “Jim?”

Jim was beaming, his head thrown back on the chair. “I just … I’m so _happy._ Hell,” he chuckled to himself. When he met Spock’s eyes, he noticed that his partner’s were sparkling. _Poetic._ Spock reached over, his hand drifting over Jim’s face. Jim seemed to understand Spock’s movement, as he leaned forward and engulfed him in a kiss.

It was sandy. That was Spock’s first impression, was that Jim was covered in sand and it was definitely transferring, unfortunately, to Spock’s face and uniform. He held Jim close as he kissed him nonetheless. Jim messily, emotionally returned it, his hands wandering up and down Spock’s back.

“Jim,” Spock corrected him softly, pulling him back after Jim made a movement to further it. “I have to pilot the shuttle pod.”

“Yeah. Yeah, time to celebrate later,” Jim responded, leaning back in his chair again. His head was tilted back at the ceiling, as if trying to search for answers on the hull of the shuttlepod. “I’m a _Captain_ again, Spock.” He repeated in amazement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2nd to last update!   
> We're going strong! Next week will be the final update to the story - the final chapter and an epilogue of sorts. It'll be strange to see it ended, but it'll also be good to work on a few other projects and I wouldn't want to drag this out more than it has to be.   
> And here we meet Finney! I tried to base him, more or less, off the character we actually see in the episode Court Martial - down to his greeting line of 'Hello, Captain!'. Of course, he's a little bit more ... off because he's been living on his own for a year, but his general motivations are the same. Guy just really, really fuckin' hates Jim (though, in his defense, Jim is A Little Too Perfect in TOS).   
> Thank you to all who have read/commented/kudos'ed the work! Even if I don't reply, rest assured that I read everyone's comments and love them all to bits.   
> See you next week for the final update!


	27. The End of the Story

“When I first met Jim, I asked myself, now, why the hell is this punk causing trouble in a fine establishment like this.” The anecdote was greeted with polite titters, which grew into general chuckling as Pike flashed a smile into the microphone. Spock was less than amused at the story.

The award ceremony was dimly lit, and Spock could only just make out Jim’s features, even sitting directly next to him. Occasionally, Spock saw a glimmer of teeth as Jim grinned. They were sitting at the front, as was expected when the table contained the guest of honor.

Sitting on Jim’s other side was his faithful friend. Bones had managed to somehow bring his daughter along (there was a certain sadness, a certain urgency in the way he regarded her, and Spock suspected he did not want to be without her for long). Jo had been seated on Jim’s knee for some time, but was now held on her father’s lap as she dozed.

A tiny bottle necklace was fastened around her neck, half full of the sand from the planet – _Petunia,_ Spock corrected himself, he was often greeted with blank stares when he mentioned the scientific name. Jim had had enough sand in his clothing to make it (and likely a few necklaces over) and had thought of it a few days after they had touched down. The gift was accompanied by the tale of adventure and strife. Spock was present when Jim told Jo the story, and even managed to prevent himself from correcting when Jim edited out the more dangerous portions.

Jo had been thrilled at every word.

Jo being at the table had been a surprise. What was more of a surprise, certainly, were Uhura, Scotty, and Sulu seated on the other side of the table. They had received special permissions to attend this event. Spock didn’t necessarily understand the reasoning for that, given they all had their assignments, but he had felt Jim almost erupt with happiness when he had learned they were coming. It had been worth it.

An award ceremony, for one of the bravest people he knew. On paper, because he had returned a mutinous deserter of the Federation. In actuality, Spock suspected, because it was the best way the Federation knew how to apologize for accidentally condemning the wrong man. _And_ returning a mutinous deserter, who was awaiting trial in the next few days.

“He should not be disparaging you in front of the audience,” Spock whispered in Jim’s ear. Jim had shifted to the side to hear Spock better, and in doing so, clanked his pins together on his formal uniform. Jim’s numerous medals and awards glinted against the sphere of light on the table.

It was _good_ to see Jim dressed that way. Aesthetic pleasure aside, people could now see Jim as accomplished and as exceptional as Spock regarded him every day.

“Honestly, given what I probably looked like back then, ‘punk’ is the nicest thing he could say to me.” Jim had a glass of champagne in his hand – synthehol. “He’s just humbling me to the audience. Speech tactics.”

“You do not need it.”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever been told that my ego isn’t big _enough._ You must really love me, huh? _”_ Jim flashed a smile at him, and Spock sent him a look back. _You know I do, but still._ On the stage, Pike continued. There was a large arch behind him, part of the molding of the stage. Spock could see the motto of Starfleet, lit up by the stage lights.

_Ex astris, scientia._

“As I got to know him, though, I started to realize that this kid – this _man_ – was really something special. He passed every exam we put in front of him. Excelled at every leadership activity. He was a model for the cadets. He showed _time and time again_ that he embodied the values of Starfleet and giving him control of his own ship was one of the best decisions that we’ve ever made.”

Pike paused in his statement to look down at Jim. Jim returned the look steadily. “Then, we failed him. I’m not going to spend my time talking about blame much, but it was Starfleet’s fault, through and through. But what Jim did, was he picked himself up -- ” At that, Dr. McCoy snorted so loudly that Jo woke up in his arms. “Brushed himself off, and said, you know what, what happened to me wasn’t right, and I’m going to fix this situation. And _then,_ not only did he do that, but he went a step _further_ and brought back someone who we all thought was _dead.”_

“That’s not right,” Jim murmured beside him.

“How? I find this part of the speech enjoyable. He is extolling your good traits.”

“He’s not talking about you all, helping me. Trying to make it sound like a one-man band.”

“Captain, I believe that is not the typical course of action in a congratulatory speech. We are here to celebrate you.”

“ _Well,”_ Jim remarked, his face going a little pinched. “Still not right.” And then, Spock assumed, he dropped the matter.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met a man who deserves this honor as much as Jim does. An award that is only given to those who show the composure, the workmanship, and the perseverance that Starfleet _requires._ Captain Kirk,” he concluded, meeting his eyes down at the table. “If you’d come up here and let me bestow this honor.”

Beside him, Jim stood and went to step forward to the stage. There was a hushed silence as Spock watched Pike pin the medal to his uniform, his chest puffed out in … pride? The rest of the ceremony hall was quiet, watching in hushed awe.

 _The prodigal son returned after all,_ Spock thought to himself wryly.

Although it did not reach the microphone, Spock could read Pike’s lips from here. “Say a few words, Jim.”

Jim approached the microphone. His eyes fell on Spock for a half-second, and Spock offered an encouraging half-smile to him. As Spock looked around, he saw the entire table had the same idea.

The media would be somewhat … frenzied, Spock knew. George Kirk’s son, a promising Captain, tried and convicted for murder and suddenly rearing back into the limelight. For Jim’s sake, he hoped his assignment started soon. It was easier to escape microphones in the stars.

Jim hadn’t prepared anything. He had been uncertain whether he would even need to give a speech, and Pike had been so busy before the ceremony that it hadn’t been properly communicated. There were a few words jotted down on a napkin besides Spock, but he couldn’t decipher Jim’s chickenscratch. Whatever they were, Jim certainly had nothing up on stage with him now. Spock had a vivid recollection of the trial, watching Jim thump his statement against the podium like a stack of cigarettes.

 _Wing it,_ Spock recalled Jim telling him once. _What’s the worst that could happen?_

“Starfleet,” Jim started into the microphone, his eyes intent upon the audience. “Can stand for a lot of things. You see it in the way we name our ships. The USS _Defiant_ , the USS _Victory, Intrepid, Valiant, Discovery, Fearless, Righteous, Dauntless, Liberty, Reliant, Endurance … Enterprise_ ,” Jim ended. “It’s easy to just memorize it. Like none of it matters, like they’re just words on the hull. But you learn, while you’re here, that you have to _choose_ how that matters. You have to choose what ideas _mean_ something to you. _”_ Jim continued, making eye contact with Spock. Spock betrayed no change in expression externally, but internally …

_Oh, Jim._

“So how do we choose? We’re only a speck to the galaxy. Not much at all. What can we choose that’s so important that it makes our small lifetime mean something?”

Jim’s eyes went to the etched archway above him, reading it out word by word.

 _“Ex astris, scientia_. From the stars, knowledge – not for ourselves, not so we can hoard it, but for our future. A future where we know. Where we can protect. Where we can heal. A future where we’re better than we are. Because if we _choose_ to make ourselves better, right now, if we further ourselves to the limits of our endurance, our strength, our morality … we improve the future. That’s the only thing that matters. If we don’t improve, if we don’t try, if we don’t take risk, then we haven’t done a damn thing that matters after we’re gone. That’s what we choose. We choose to be _better._ ”

Applause shook the walls of the room. Jim offered a half-smile to the surrounding audience, but he did not yet step away from the microphone. His eyes were on Spock, and Spock raised his hands in a polite clap.

“Admiral Pike, well, was _very_ forgiving towards me. The truth is, I’m not a hero. I _am_ a punk. I’ve been very lucky to have people around me. My crew on the _Republic_ taught me to always stand up for what, and who, you believe in.” Spock’s eyes flashed over to Uhura, remembered how her fist had _slammed_ down on the table in Jim’s defense during the trial.

“Chris,” Jim offered, looking over his shoulder to his beaming friend. “Taught me that you have to push yourself to your limits, if you want to achieve more than you ever thought you could. Bones,” he turned to face the edge of the stage again, looking down at the doctor. “Taught me that sometimes, you have to show mercy and kindness to the people who need it. To the people who _really_ need it,” Jim added with emphasis. Bones softly cursed under his breath and, so as not to disturb his daughter, reached for the edge of the tablecloth to dab his eyes.

“And Spock,” he finished. Spock felt a chill run up his spine when their eyes met. “Taught me that no matter what you struggle with, you have to go after what’s right. Even if the entire world’s against you, even if the person you care about most in the world is against you, even if your own mind is fighting your every step -- you say, _I have a duty to find out the truth and I can’t let anything stop me._ Without your _limitless patience_ , I wouldn’t be standing up here today – I don’t want to think about where I’d be. Thank you. I love you.”

At that, Jim took a step from the microphone. The room shook with applause again, some of the more junior officers rising to their feet. Jim’s eyes were focused in on him, and Spock, at that moment, wanted nothing more to be bonded to him, so that he could make Jim feel, with all of his heart and mind, how much he loved him.

Jim gave them another winning grin and turned to step off stage, where he was stopped by Admiral Pike.

“Whoa there, son. There’s still something else.” The microphone caught it, but Spock did not think it was purposeful. Pike approached the microphone again. “I don’t mean to make this a spectacle – your ship assignment never should be. Given everything that happened, though, I figured you could forgive me for making this a little dramatic. Jim, you don’t mind, do you?” To that, Jim firmly shook his head.

His ship assignment. At that moment, nothing could burst Spock’s happy bubble, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t somewhat nervous. It must’ve been betrayed on his face, because he felt Uhura leaning over and giving him a squeeze on the shoulder. He made eye contact, and the smile that Uhura gave him was … reassuring. It would be okay, he told himself.

“I can’t think of a better man for the position. Consider it a little apology from Starfleet – from _me_. Captain Kirk, I want you to head the _USS Enterprise_ on her premiere mission.”

For a second, all was still. It was as if Spock was in a vacuum, soundless, floating.

And then the crowd went wild.

The applause evolved into outright cheers, more of the senior officers standing in respect. Jim was going to be _Captain._ His _Captain._ Spock saw the rest of the table clap appreciatively, but there was no surprise on their faces – only conspirational glances. They had known of this. Spock could not examine their faces too closely, because he realized he was … in shock. The noise and furor pounded against his eardrums.

But Spock felt no panic at the commotion, no fear and no unpleasant memories. Only shock. And, deeper down, relief.

He leaned back in his chair, staring up at Jim, and he noted that at least he looked a lot better than Jim did. Jim had gone completely pale, his eyes wide as he looked at Pike. He responded nevertheless with a stuttered “yes, of course”, and Pike gave him a hearty slap on the shoulder in response.

“So the big dumbass is gonna order me around after all,” Bones groaned, but it was good-natured yet. Spock was grateful for it. It was something to focus on while he remembered to breathe.

He didn’t have to leave Jim.

What was more, Jim was going to be captain of the flagship of Starfleet.

He had thought the best possible outcome would be a pardon, but this? This was more than what Spock had initially calculated. Much, much more. He couldn’t have imagined a better future for his lover at that instant.

Spock remembered when he was a boy, aiming for the Vulcan Science Academy. He had hoped to be able to discover something that would help people, perhaps chart unknown areas of space and help explorers. He had not thought much of his own personal life; that was not usually the way on Vulcan. His betrothed bondmate had been … alright, he supposed, and the bullying had mostly stopped when he had come of age, even if it had gradually morphed into general distaste.

He had not aimed to be in love. He had not aimed to help a man rise back to where he belonged. He had not aimed for Jim.

But he had run into him anyway.

-

Jim was leaning against the edge of the balcony, trying to make sense of the world, when he heard footsteps behind him. There was no raucous call or a ‘hey, Captain!’, which meant it could only be one person. And, although he loved everyone who had attended (god, they’d gotten his old _crew_ here), he was so grateful for that one person.

When he turned around to see Spock, he was standing at his attention, his hands firmly at his sides. “Captain,” he replied with no hint of amusement, and Jim cracked a smile at him. _I love this man so much._

“Yeah, yeah, wait until we’re actually in the lovely lady.” A few seconds passed. “It’s kinda cliché, isn’t it?” Jim asked, arms crossed as he looked off the balcony. It was a gorgeous view of the ocean. God, even at night, Jim could just see the waves crashing against the shore. It smelled amazing. He’d have to remember the scent, maybe get it to pump through his quarters on the goddamn _Enterprise,_ he was the Captain of the USS _Enterprise, oh my God –_

Nope. He wasn’t gonna focus on that, not right now, not when he felt Spock leaning on the railing next to him. Watching the beach helped calm him down. There was something about the ocean that reminded him of space in the most beautiful way.

He was just so goddamn happy that he could burst, and he couldn’t get the grin off his face as Spock turned towards him.

“What is?”

“ ‘I stepped away from the party because I needed some air’. That’s what happens, whenever you watch a holovid and someone leaves the party. It’s so they don’t have to deal with all the background extras.”

“I don’t find anything cliché with needing air, Jim. Humans require it constantly.” Jim scanned Spock’s face, trying to see if he was telling a joke, but it was impenetrable. Damn.

“You’re no fun, honey.” Jim teased. “But hey, I love you anyway. I’m gonna have to. Five more years stuck with me, at least.”

“I could not imagine being anywhere else. Everything that has been said about you tonight is true, Jim. You are remarkable.” A hand fell to the small of his back, and Jim smile at him. “You deserved every word.”

“Everything I said about you is true, too. Seriously. If it wasn’t for you, getting me to meet up with Pike again, realizing that there was something wrong with the case, I’d be … god, Spock, I’d probably be face-down in a bar somewhere.”

“I can say the same for your impact on my life. You never stopped believing that I would be capable of returning to a starship again. If it were not for you, I never would have returned to space. And now, I am fortunate enough to be on a starship, with you, t’hy’la.”

“Aw. Butter me up, buttercup,” Jim teased. Wow, way harder to be affectionate with Spock in person than it was up on stage. Still, he let his head fall against Spock’s shoulder in an unspoken word of thanks. “I never doubted you. You’re basically built for being a science officer. _My_ first officer.” After a pause, Jim asked curiously, “What’s that word you said? T --- tuh-hee? You barely speak Vulcan around me.”

‘T’hy’la,” Spock murmured. “A Vulcan term, not typically said off-planet. It is to be more loyal than family, to be more familiar than friends, to be more affectionate than lovers.”

“Wow, that’s … “

“In human terms, it is best described as the love of one’s life.”

Jim’s breath left him at that. Sure, he’d said as much to Spock before, but to hear it coming from him, _referring_ to him, it was just … it was devastating, in the best possible way. He turned his face against Spock’s shoulder, trying hard not to lose it, after everything that had happened tonight.

“I love you, too,” he finally said, removing his face from the shirt and leaning back just to stare across the balcony again. “And I wouldn’t change a single thing about what happened, ever, if it meant I got to meet you.’

There was a comfortable pause, before Spock asked, “You do not regret it, then? Finding ex-Commander Finney? I asked you on the shuttle, before.”

Shit, he hadn’t thought about Finn the entire night. It had just been so busy, and the news of the Enterprise had just bowled him over, and … he wondered if he should feel guilty for the moment, maybe sympathy for the man in the cell, but no guilt came. Finney had chosen his entire trajectory in life. Jim had, too.

Once, Finn had been his friend. That man didn’t exist anymore. Jim had moved on, and grown up.

He had a loving partner, an amazing assignment, and a ship filled with his best friends waiting for him.

“I don’t, Spock. Alright, first of all, who knows if I would’ve gotten the _Enterprise_ assignment without it. Secondly, and I think most importantly …” He frowned. “Part of me, in the back of my brain, always would’ve wondered what happened. It would’ve eaten me alive. Always would’ve wondered if … maybe Finn had been set up, too, maybe he just had a mental breakdown, maybe … maybe something, you know. But now, I know. I know Finn was just a dick with a bad plan and a stupid fake name.”

“Indeed,” Spock agreed with him. “And now, we can finally put the matter to bed.”

Jim debated on making a dirty joke about something else he’d be putting to bed, but figured he could make it later. Now, _now,_ they were always going to have a later. The thought was dizzying. He’d always have Spock.

He extended his hand out, displaying his index finger and middle to Spock. Spock looked down and saw them. His fingers joined Jim’s, his other arm going to wind around Jim’s back. Together, they looked out over the railing, watching the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Fun Fact Before I Post The Final Chapter)  
> One of the reasons why I didn't post this all in one swoop is because I've probably re-written Jim's speech at the end eight or nine times over the course of editing the story. In the end, I like how it turned out - it combines a lot of Jim's natural aptitude for Starfleet history, his reckless nature, his overarching goals and reliance on others. When he thanks his friends, he uses nearly word-for-word phrases that have been said to him throughout the story (seen most particularly in Chris, Spock, and Bones).  
> When I first started this story, I knew exactly how I wanted it to start, and how I wanted it to end.  
> I wanted it to start with Jim at his low - depressed, drunk, and purposeless.  
> I wanted it to end with Jim as Captain of the Enterprise.


	28. Captain on Bridge

“Captain on bridge,” the starboard computer stated as Jim stepped off the turbolift, straightening the front of his uniform. He made his way for the captain’s chair. “Alright, everyone. Report ready status.”

“Shields on full and responding appropriately, Captain,” Lieutenant Sulu reported from his chair, head tucked over the console. He pressed at it a few times, sliding holographic images around. “All weaponry systems online.”

“Hailing systems open and ready, translators operational.” Lieutenant Uhura followed next, her earpiece firmly in place. “Starfleet has been informed of our departure and has given us the go-ahead.”

“All sensors and emitters are functional. I am receiving no abnormal readings so far.” Commander Spock was sitting at his station, but did look up momentarily to meet Jim’s eyes. He felt a little flutter in his chest at seeing his partner, his _t’hy’la,_ sitting there in his science blues. Spock’s eyes returned to his station.

“Sickbay is open for business,” Bones’ voice crackled from his commbadge. “Empty and ready, let’s plan to keep it that way.”

“Approximate coordinates inputted, Captain!” Chekov. New kid. Barely out of the Academy. Looked like he was about … twelve. But he was intelligent, and Jim had high hopes for him.

Silence dawned on the bridge as all the bridge crew turned to look at their Captain.

“Warp zero point five,” Jim commanded, flashing a smile. He gestured towards the main screen. “At your ready. Everyone, wave goodbye to Earth. Let’s get out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fade to black.  
> Cut to soprano opera of the Star Trek theme.  
> -  
> And the curtain falls! Thank you to everyone who's stuck with me since the very first chapter (don't think I haven't seen you!) - four months and 70k words later, here we are at the end of the story. What started as my little TOS Court Martial AU morphed into something so much bigger, and it's very strange to see it end.   
> I'm going to end the author's note before I get TOO emotional over this - but again, a huge thank you to everyone who's read the story, left a kudos, or commented!   
> Live long and prosper, friends. 😎

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> TOS-watchers may recognize this fic as a very, very loose re-telling of the episode 'Court Martial' - an examination about what would've happened if Jim had been convicted of Finney's murder. 'Court Martial' is one of my favorite TOS episodes, and I was really interested in taking it in another direction. I haven't taken many details from it, mostly just names and places.
> 
> A few details about the fic going forward -- it IS a multiple POV fic, with the other POV being Spock's. I'll be updating weekly, typically Sunday (+/- a day if I'm out of town). I would love to know what you think of the fic, any reactions upon reading, or anything at all!


End file.
